THE  WICKED 
JOHN  GOODE 


HORACE  WINTHROP 
SCANDLIN 


BX  6248  .G53  S22  1917 
Scandlin,  Horace  Winthrop 
The  wicked  John  Goode 


THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 


HORACE  WINTHROP  SCANDLIN 


JOHN    GOOliK 


THE   WICKED 


00 


JOHN  GOODE 

BY 

HORACE  WINTHROP  SCANDLIN 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

THOMAS  MOTT  OSBORNE 

AND  AN  EPILOGUE  BY 

REV.  J.  G.  HALLIMOND 

SUPERINTENDENT  OF  THE  BOWERY  MISSION 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1917, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  1917,  BY  THE  CHRISTIAN  HERALD 
PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


INTRODUCTION 

Recalling  my  early  reading  of  M sop's 
Fables,  I  always  enjoyed  the  Moral  at  the 
end  of  each  story;  for  then  I  felt  quite 
sure  I  had  understood;  and  I  liked  to  be 
quite  certain  of  that. 

In  that  most  delightful  of  nursery  clas- 
sics, "Alice  in  Wonderland,"  one  of  the 
characters  gravely  remarks:  "Every- 
thing's got  a  moral  if  only  you  can  find  it." 
I  confess  to  an  increasing  desire,  as  the 
years  advance,  to  find  the  moral  of  things. 

In  the  story  of  John  Goode  one  can 
find  several  good  morals,  but  the  one  that 
appeals  most  to  me  might  be  worded  thus : 
Take  care  of  the  boy  and  the  man  will 
take  care  of  himself. 

Do  what  we  will,  there  will  always  be 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

need  of  correctional  institutions  to  care 
for  those  who,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
cannot  or  will  not  play  the  game  of  life 
according  to  the  rules  laid  down  by  the 
community — "Society  Misfits."  Whether 
it  is  their  fault,  or  the  fault  of  their  ances- 
tors, or  of  the  environment,  matters  little 
to  the  public  which  suffers  from  their  de- 
structive activity.  When  the  law  lays  its 
hands  upon  these  mischief-makers  it  sends 
them  to  some  institution;  and  when  they 
make  trouble  there  we  call  them  "incor- 
rigibles,"  thus  assuming  that  it  must  be 
the  fault  of  the  inmates  rather  than  of 
the  institution. 

John  Goode,  at  the  age  of  ten,  was  an 
"incorrigible";  so  he  tells  us.  But  was 
he?  Suppose  he  had  found,  in  one  of  the 
institutions  to  which  he  was  sent,  an  in- 
telligent system  which  would  have  stimu- 
lated his  sense  of  honour  and  his  capacity 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

to  bear  responsibility,  as  well  as  a  super- 
intendent who  was  a  sympathetic  teacher; 
can  one  doubt  that  the  inherent  strength 
and  goodness  of  the  man,  which  at  last  has 
seized  upon  him  and  now  dominates  him, 
would  have  emerged  then?  Are  we  to 
suppose  that  the  sacred  fire  cannot  be 
kindled  in  these  men  until  the  soul  has 
been  smirched?  Perhaps  if  I  had  not  seen 
young  boys  as  incorrigible  as  John  Goode 
ever  was  at  the  age  of  ten,  turned  by 
humane  and  sensible  treatment  into  good 
and  useful  citizens,  I  should  think  other- 
wise; but  having  beheld  with  my  own  eyes 
the  gradual  but  complete  reformation  of 
many  such  youthful  delinquents,  long  be- 
fore I  saw  the  same  thing  among  the  adult 
prisoners  of  Auburn  and  Sing  Sing,  I 
know  that  there  was  no  reason  for  John 
Goode's  early  failure  to  reform,  except 
the  stupid  maladministration  of  the  insti- 
tutions which  received  him  bad  and  made 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

him  worse.  It  is  only  another  case  where 
"Man's  inhumanity  to  man  makes  count- 
less thousands  mourn." 

In  the  course  of  time  John  Goode  re- 
formed. But  the  reform  of  an  individual 
criminal  here  and  there  is  no  new  thing. 
It  may  happen,  and  has  happened,  in  any 
one  of  several  ways — among  them  the  way 
it  happened  to  John  Goode.  But  one  of 
the  important  lessons  to  us  is  that  it  did 
not  happen  through  the  agency  of  any 
one  of  the  institutions  in  which  he  was 
placed.  Every  one  of  them  made  a  fail- 
ure of  him.  As  the  event  showed,  he  was 
good  material  all  the  while;  yet  so  far  as 
society's  official  agencies  of  reform  were 
concerned  he  was  the  worst  for  all  of 
them.  And  such  conditions  should  be  a 
matter  of  shame  to  us.  Think  of  the  many 
years  of  life  wasted  and  worse  than 
wasted,  in  which  the  man's  strength  might 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

have  been  used  for  the  benefit  of  society, 
instead  of  towards  its  destruction!  Also 
think  of  the  thousands  whom  the  light 
never  strikes  as  it  struck  John  Goode. 

The  chief  moral,  therefore,  which  I  find 
in  this  story  deals  with  the  obligation  that 
is  upon  us  to  reform  the  reformatory  in- 
stitutions to  which  our  little  John  Goodes 
are  sent  and  which  are  now  little  else  than 
feeders  to  our  state  prisons.  Every  state 
has  juvenile  refuges  and  children's  pro- 
tectories and  industrial  schools  and  refor- 
matories. I  have  heard  of  very  few  which 
allow  the  children  enough  initiative  to  en- 
able them  to  prepare  themselves  thor- 
oughly and  efficiently  for  life.  We  swing 
from  brutality  to  benevolent  paternalism; 
and  while  the  latter  is  pleasanter,  it  is 
almost  as  harmful. 

In  the  meantime,  let  us  be  grateful  that 
we  have  occasional  John  Goodes,  strong 


x  INTRODUCTION 

enough  to  seek  and  find  God  in  spite  of 
the  barriers  we  ignorantly  and  stupidly 
place  in  their  way. 

THOMAS  MOTT  OSBORNE. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Introduction  by  Thomas  Mott  Osborne  v 

CHAPTER 

I  My  Start 15 

II   An  Eleven- Year-Old  Runaway!  27 

III  My  First  Arrest — Age  Eleven  33 

IV  In  New  York  and  In  Trouble 

In  One  Night 44 

V   Doing  My  First  "Bit"    ...  47 

VI   In  Which  I  Am  Bound  Out  .     .  54 

VII   On  Board  Ship — Bound  Out      .  63 

VIII   In  Which  I  Meet  My  Aunt      .  67 

IX   Now  A  Professional  Thief       .  71 

X   Getting  In  Right 76 

XI   In  Which  I  Marry      ....  79 
XII   In  Which  I  Begin  to  Slide  Down- 
hill from  Which  there  is  but 

One  Path  Back 85 

XIII  My  Last  Prison  Term     ...  93 

XIV  At  the  Bottom  of  the  Bottom  .  102 
XV   Just  Before  I  Turned!    .      .      .  110 

XVI  In  Which  I  First  Visit  The  Bow- 
ery Mission 117 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII   Hard    Manual    Labor — A    New 

Sensation 127 

XVIII   I    Join    the    Brotherhood    and 

Meet  Dr.  Hallimond   .     .      .  138 

XIX   Out  of  Work 143 

XX   In  Which  I  Fall 150 

XXI   In  Which  I  Suffer  As  Never 

Before 162 

XXII   In  Which  Is  Hell       ....  177 

XXIII   Together— At  Last     ....  186 

Epilogue  by  Rev.  J.  G.  Hallimond     .     .  203 


THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 


THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

CHAPTER  I 

MY   STAKT 

It  was  cold  and  sharp  with  wind  and 
the  snow  crunched  crisply  underfoot  as 
host  and  guest  entered  the  grounds  of  a 
modest  and  comfortable  country  home. 
The  log  fire  in  the  cozy  living  room  burned 
cheerfully  and  cast  a  soft,  mellow  light 
halfway  into  the  room  as  the  two  men 
dropped  into  huge  leather  chairs  inviting- 
ly placed  before  it.  They  awaited  the  call 
to  dinner.  Weary  and  footsore  they  were 
after  a  five  mile  jaunt  from  the  club  where 
they  had  spent  the  morning. 

With  keen  appetites  the  two  men  par- 
took of  a  roast  and  its  fixings  in  silence. 

15 


16       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

Each  seemed  absorbed  with  his  own  re- 
flections. Reaction  after  the  walk  per- 
haps, or  was  it  the  season?  It  was  the 
last  day  of  the  year.  Was  it  the  year  they 
were  about  to  leave  behind,  the  years  they 
had  left  behind,  or  the  year  they  were 
about  to  enter  of  which  these  two  men 
were  thinking?  At  any  rate,  their  silence 
remained  unbroken.  They  seemed  to  un- 
derstand— these  two  men — the  silence 
seemed  as  satisfying  as  the  meal. 

Coffee  and  cheese  were  served  at  a  small 
table  in  front  of  the  fireplace  amid  the 
still  unbroken  silence.  And  as  if  to  hold 
unbroken  their  reverie  they  settled  deep 
down  in  their  chairs. 

The  guest  was  massive — a  giant  of  New 
England  origin  developed  into  rugged 
manhood  by  a  strenuous  early  life  in  the 
far  and  middle  West.  Close  cropped  hair 
— grey — and  deep  facial  lines  indicated 
his  age  as  sixty-five,  but  the  huge  unbent 


MY  START  17 

frame  and  the  steel  like  muscles  of  the 
hig  limbs  seemed  not  more  than  forty. 
The  high  and  heavy  forehead  and  the 
overhanging  brow  bespoke  intellect.  The 
keen,  steel  blue  eyes  spelled  determina- 
tion. Yet  those  eyes  had  a  soft,  kindly 
look,  one  that  invited  confidence.  It  was 
a  look  not  at  all  like  what  one  would  as- 
sociate with  the  rest  of  the  portrait.  A 
square  protruding  chin  completed  the  pic- 
ture of  a  man  who  could  and  would  in- 
dulge and  who  had  indulged  his  every 
desire. 

The  guest  drew  from  his  pocket  a  pack- 
age of  papers  and  extracted  a  typewrit- 
ten letter  which  he  read  and  re-read  many 
times. 

"That's  an  invitation  to  speak  at  a 
Men's  Club,"  he  said  quietly  as  though 
continuing  aloud  a  mental  conversation. 

"I've  done  a  pile  of  thinking  ever  since 
it  came.    Last  night  Dr.  Hallimond  asked 


18       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

me  to  be  sure  and  accept  it.  Of  course 
I'll  do  anything  he  asks. 

"As  I  look  back  sometimes — like  to-day, 
for  instance — it  seems  as  though  I  must  be 
dreaming  or  as  though  Aladdin  had 
crossed  my  path.  Just  think  of  all  the 
friends  I've  got.  Just  think  what  you've 
all  meant  to  me  and  who  you  all  are — 
business  men,  doctors,  lawyers,  ministers, 
editors,  scores  of  you,  and  look  at  me! 

"I'm  a  porter,  ten  hours  a  day,  eleven 
dollars  a  week,  52  years  old  and — and — " 
The  sentence  remained  unfinished. 

I  hesitated  about  replying,  for  I  knew 
well  the  man  and  his  manners.  If  I  spoke 
the  wrong  reply  I  would  divert  the  trend 
of  his  thoughts.  So  I  kept  silent,  know- 
ing instinctively  I  was  to  hear  again  as 
remarkable  a  story  as  was  ever  told — a 
story  of  absolute  truth  and  one  that  would 
do  both  teller  and  hearer  much  good. 


MY  START  19 

And  then  John  Goode  began  and  told 
me  for  the  second  time  this  tale. 


"I  was  two  years  old  when  my  parents 
took  me  from  Massachusetts  to  a  silver 
camp,  the  town  of  Caribou  in  the  northern 
part  of  the  state  of  Colorado.  She — my 
mother — was  a  good  woman.  My  father 
was  a  righting,  whiskey-drinking  Irish- 
man, as  irritable  when  sober  as  he  was 
cruel  and  vicious  when  drunk.  I  very 
rarely  saw  him  when  he  was  sober.  He 
was  a  bad  acter  and  had  left  Canada 
some  years  earlier  just  in  time  to  escape 
the  noose  in  a  good  stout  rope.  The  town 
was  sixty  miles  from  the  nearest  railroad 
and  the  only  Bible  it  contained  was  my 
mother's.  My  mother  also  had  the  dis- 
tinction of  being  the  only  woman  in  that 
camp  in  the  early  days. 

"Before  long  other  children  were  born 


20       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

to  my  parents  and  as  my  mother's  duties 
were  many  besides  caring  for  her  children 
I  need  not  tell  you  that  my  early  training 
was  a  totally  minus  quantity.  My  par- 
ents kept  a  boarding  house  for  miners  and 
you  can  easily  imagine  the  environment  I 
found  myself  in  and  how  much  attention 
my  mother  could  give  to  us.  There  sim- 
ply was  no  discipline.  I  grew  up — that's 
all. 

"In  those  days  a  mining  camp  was  no 
fit  place  for  children.  All  that  these 
camps  knew  was  rough  work,  rough  peo- 
ple, rough  times.    Everything  was  hard. 

"I'll  never  forget  how  in  two  winters 
two  of  my  younger  brothers  and  one  sister 
died.  The  men,  my  father  and  a  friend, 
built  tiny  coffins  out  of  pine  soap  boxes 
which  I  fetched  from  the  store.  In  these 
crude,  rough,  unlined  affairs  they  placed 
the  little  bodies  and  then  nailed  on  the  lids. 
In  each  instance  the  death  occurred  in 


MY  START  21 

winter  and  the  frost  was  deep  in  the 
ground.  Before  the  graves  could  be 
opened  huge  fires  were  built  on  the  select- 
ed spots.  We  waited,  my  mother,  father 
and  me  with  a  few  friends  till  the  ground 
thawed  out,  No  stone  or  wood  marked 
these  graves.  No  enclosure  protected  the 
little  bodies.  Soon  even  the  little  mounds 
had  disappeared,  and  not  long  after  that 
the  incidents  themselves  were  forgotten, 
for  it  was  work,  work,  work  of  the  hard- 
est sort,  with  no  time  or  place  for  senti- 
ment or  sorrow. 

"Nor  was  there  time  or  place  for  disci- 
pline. When  we  were  well  we  kept  out  of 
the  way.  When  we  were  sick  we  were  a 
trouble,  but  in  the  crude  manner  of  the 
day  and  place  we  were  cared  for  and  re- 
stored to  health  or  we  died. 

"Had  there  been  time  for  discipline  it 
would  have  had  no  effect  on  me.  My 
father  blocked  all  efforts  at  anything  but 


22       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

work.  The  only  times  he  noticed  me  was 
when  I  crossed  him  in  some  childish  way 
and  then  he  beat  me  unmercifully.  I  soon 
learned  that  it  was  safest  to  keep  out  of 
his  way,  and  thus  it  was  that  I  also  learned 
to  know  what  "father"  meant.  My  ha- 
tred of  him  grew  apace  while  my  love  for 
my  mother — if  I  knew  then  what  love 
meant — deepened.  I  remember  her  as  a 
meek,  quiet,  sorrowful  woman — a  woman 
of  few  words.  She  always  shielded  me  as 
best  she  could,  from  my  father  and  cov- 
ered up  my  misdeeds.  The  beatings  he 
gave  me  hurt  her  as  much  as  they  hurt 
me.  I  can  vividly  remember  her  pleading 
with  him  to  be  merciful  as  he  brought  a 
stick  down  on  my  bare  back,  blow  after 
blow.  Sometimes  after  she  had  lied  to 
save  me,  a  neighbor  would  tell  him,  and 
then  I  would  pay  dearly  for  my  wrong 
and  for  my  mother's  intended  kindness. 
"By  the  time  I  was  seven  I  had  learned 


MY  START  23 

well  the  need  of  keeping  out  of  my  fa- 
ther's sight  and  I  had  learned  still  better 
how  to  take  care  of  myself.  I  had  done 
my  first  stealing  before  I  was  five  years 
old.  I  had  helped  myself  to  money  from 
the  cash  drawer  of  the  only  store  in  camp. 
Why  shouldn't  I?  I  didn't  know  it  was 
wrong!  All  I  knew  was  that  I  couldn't 
get  candy  at  home.  There  most  of  the 
money  went  for  whiskey.  No  one  saw  me 
steal  the  first  time  or  the  second  time,  so 
no  one  scolded  me.  No  one  beat  me  for 
stealing,  so  it  couldn't  be  wrong,  my  child 
mind  reasoned. 

"At  ten  I  was  incorrigible!  I  had  felt 
my  own  power.  I  had  experienced  every 
sensation,  good  and  bad,  the  town  was 
able  to  supply.  Caribou  had  become  too 
small  and  my  father  too  cruel.  I  had 
never  been  to  school,  for  there  was  no 
school  to  go  to!  And  so  I  reached  the 
age  of  eleven — a  liar  and  a  thief! 


24       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"With  that  year  came  the  most  brutal 
beating  a  boy  ever  received.  It  developed 
into  a  fight — father  and  son.  I  was  well 
put  up  and  well  versed  with  my  hands  and 
he  was  beastly  drunk  and  mad.  With 
that  beating  came  an  instant  determina- 
tion to  run  away.  Never  for  an  instant 
would  I  regret  leaving  home — my  broth- 
ers and  sisters — my  father  and  mother. 
What  were  they  to  me?  Had  I  not  shift- 
ed for  myself  all  my  life?  I  could  con- 
tinue to  do  so. 

"I  walked  the  sixty  miles  to  the  rail- 
road, to  the  then  little  wooden  city  of 
saloons,  gambling  houses,  and  dens  of  ill 
repute  called  Denver.  It  was  fed  then 
by  but  one  railroad — the  old  Kansas  Pa- 
cific, now  the  Union  Pacific. 

"I  remember  the  thrills  as  they  chased 
themselves  up  and  down  my  spine  when 
from  a  mountain  top,  afar  off,  I  caught 
my  first  glimpse  of  the  city. 


MY  START  25 

"It  was  a  walk  I'll  never  forget.  Bears 
and  Indians  and  wolves  were  plentiful, 
and  it  was  a  trip  that  would  test  the  nerves 
of  the  bravest  boy.  The  long,  long  day- 
light hours  and  the  dreadful,  fearful 
thought  of  those  surely  coming  nights 
with  inky,  inky  blackness.  .  .  .  But  little 
did  I  realise  that  the  blackness  of  those 
black  nights  on  that  runaway  journey 
were  as  broad  daylight  compared  to  the 
blackness  of  the  life  I  was  slowly  but  sure- 
ly walking  into. 

"I  was  on  the  road  four  days  and  three 
nights.  I  slept  on  the  ground  two  nights 
and  in  a  deserted  mining  shack  the  other. 
I  can  distinctly  remember  the  howling  of 
the  wolves  and  how  lonely  and  frightened 
I  was.  But  not  once  was  I  tempted  to  re- 
turn to  my  father.  He  had  taught  me  too 
well  his  lessons.  All  during  the  trip  I 
had  been  fearful  lest  he  should  seek  me, 


26       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

knowing,  of  course,  that  Denver  was  the 
only  place  to  which  I  could  head. 

"I  wonder  if  he  made  any  effort  to  find 
me?  I  wonder  what  my  mother  thought 
and  how  she  felt?  Never  once  since  I 
passed  through  the  camp  on  my  way  to 
the  railroad  have  I  seen  my  father  nor 
even  heard  of  him.  He  must  have  long 
since  passed  over  the  Great  Divide,  for 
his  manner  of  living  fifty  years  ago  could 
only  have  meant  an  early  end.  I  have 
seen  my  mother  only  twice  since  and  she 
too,  no  doubt,  has  passed  to  her  reward. 
All  that  I  ever  knew  of  her  life  was  hard, 
cruelly  hard.  No  woman  could  stand  it 
long. 


CHAPTER  II 

AN   ELEVEN -YEAR-OLD   RUNAWAY! 

"On  leaving  the  mountains  and  drop- 
ping onto  the  plain  in  which  is  Denver 
I  proceeded  slowly,  walking  twice  around 
it  before  entering  or  speaking  to  any  one. 
After  I  had  sized  up  the  place,  I  singled 
out  what  looked  to  be  a  boarding  house 
and  applied  for  a  job.  My  surmise  proved 
to  be  correct  and  I  was  set  to  work  at  once 
washing  dishes.  I  didn't  like  the  place 
nor  the  work,  which  was  the  first  I'd  ever 
done,  and  so  after  three  days  I  beat  it. 
As  nothing  had  been  said  about  wages, 
none  were  due  me. 

"I  went  to  the  railroad  yard  and  picked 
up  an  acquaintance  with  an  engineer  who 


28       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

took  my  cock  and  bull  story  in  whole. 
He  was  a  good  man  and  readily  consented 
to  my  riding  in  the  caboose  of  his  freight 
leaving  that  day  for  Kansas  City.  My 
reception  on  the  train  of  fifty  odd  freight 
cars  and  one  caboose  was  cordial.  My  age 
of  course  was  responsible  for  that. 

"  'Where  yer  going,  son?' 

"  '.Where  yer  been?' 

"  'Yer  hungry?' 

"The  ice  was  broken.  They  took  me  in 
and  shared  their  grub  and  bunks  with  me. 
Here  I  again  experienced  what  I  now 
know  to  be  kindness.  It  made  me  feel 
queer.  Here  were  all  these  rough  look- 
ing, dirty  men — and  no  one  hit  me — no 
one  was  drunk.  They  told  me  stories  of 
railroading  as  it  was  done  in  those  days,  of 
holdups,  of  wrecks,  and  my  blood  fairly 
raced  through  my  system,  propelled  by 
the  beats  of  a  little  eleven  year  old  runa- 
way heart. 


A  RUNAWAY!  29 

"I'm  not  telling  you  this  for  sympathy, 
God  knows  I'm  not!  I'm  telling  it  to  you 
so  that  the  next  time  you  are  told  of  a  man 
who  is  a  criminal  and  who  will  never  be 
anything  else,  remember  my  story  and  of 
the  inherent  good  there  was  in  me  and  is 
in  every  other  human  being,  of  how  that 
little  bit  of  goodness  was  kindled  into 
flame — of  how  that  little  flame  was  nursed 
until  it  could  keep  aglow  alone.  Remem- 
ber my  start  in  life,  perhaps  the  other  fel- 
low's start  was  like  mine.  I  was  as  yel- 
low a  cur  as  ever  lived — a  man  couldn't 
be  more  yellow — and  yet  I  had  what  every 
mortal  has — an  inherent  grain  of  good- 
ness that's  God-given  and  which  no  man 
has  the  right  to  deny. 

"In  four  days  the  train  pulled  onto  a 
siding  in  the  freight  yards  at  Kansas  City. 
It  had  reached  the  end  of  its  journey. 

"Where  was  I  going? 

"I  did  not  know. 


30       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"I  had  heard  my  mother  say  she  had  a 
sister  in  Massachusetts.  I  made  up  my 
mind  then  that  I  would  go  to  her.  At  that 
time  I  had  no  idea  I  was  different  from 
any  normal  boy.  There  had  been  no  means 
of  my  knowing  that  the  life  I  was  leading 
would  take  me  to  state's  prison  or  the  gal- 
lows, unless  it  was  checked.  I  didn't  know 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  a  prison  and  gal- 
lows. But  I  learned  about  them  soon 
enough.  Then,  however,  I  was  just  a 
healthy  boy  running  away  to  escape  a  fa- 
ther's uncontrollable  temper  and  desire 
for  whiskey.  I  was  on  a  train  of  freight 
cars  and  the  men  knew  why  I  was  there. 
They  treated  me  kindly.  But  three  days 
of  kind  treatment  on  a  freight  train  won't 
alter  a  boy's  character.  Perhaps  if  I  had 
met  men  on  leaving  that  freight  gang, 
who  treated  me  as  they  did,  this  sort  of  a 
story  would  never  have  been  told.  But  I 
didn't  meet  the  same  sort  of  men. 


A  RUNAWAY!  31 

"I  met  men  and  boys  who  like  myself 
couldn't  or  wouldn't  or  didn't  recognise 
the  difference  between  right  and  wrong. 
I  met  men  whose  business  it  was  to  teach 
young  boys  to  steal  and  pick  pockets  just 
as  carefully  as  your  boy  is  being  taught 
how  to  become  a  manly  man  and,  just  like 
your  boy,  I  learned  my  lessons  well.  I 
met  other  men  who  took  these  boys,  when 
they  had  become  expert,  onto  the  road  to 
steal  and  plunder  and  for  other  unspeak- 
able purposes. 

"As  I  say  I  learned  my  lessons  well.  I 
was  an  apt  pupil — had  begun  early.  My 
age  was  with  me,  for  who  would  suspect 
an  eleven  year  old  boy  of  being  a  thief? 

"I  didn't  stay  long  in  Kansas  City.  I 
don't  know  why,  except  that  way  back 
somewhere  in  my  head  was  that  wish  to  go 
to  my  mother's  sister.  I  beat  my  way  to 
St.  Louis  on  the  Missouri  Pacific.  Some- 
times I  rode  in  coaches,  more  often  under- 


32       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

neath.  Sometimes  I  begged  my  food, 
sometimes  I  stole  to  procure  it,  but  the 
point  is  I  always  got  it.  Back  door  and 
front  door  alike  yielded  all  the  food  I 
asked.  Always  my  age  and  story  brought 
the  lady  of  the  house  across.  And  each 
time  I  told  the  story  I  added  more  sob 
stuff.  Open  windows  and  cellar  doors 
got  me  all  else  I  needed. 

"And  then  the  inevitable  happened. 
Why  it  hadn't  happened  sooner  I  can't 
understand. 


CHAPTER  III 

MY   FIRST  ARREST — AGE   ELEVEN 

"I  made  St.  Louis  late  at  night  and 
forced  a  window  in  a  stable.  Crawling 
into  a  warm  corner  of  the  hay  I  was  soon 
fast  asleep.  Towards  morning  the  owner 
of  the  building  and  a  cop  appeared.  I 
was  picked  up  for  entry  and  further  ac- 
cused of  threatening  to  set  fire  to  the 
premises ! 

"The  Judge  before  whom  I  was  ar- 
raigned tried  as  well  as  he  knew  how,  to 
show  me  the  folly  of  my  ways.  I  wonder 
if  he  had  boys  of  his  own.  I  hope  not.  I 
wonder  how  many  other  boys  had  previ- 
ously been  brought  before  him.  I  wonder 
how  many  followed  me  into  his  kindly  con- 
88 


34       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

siderate  hands.  What  a  story  the  history 
of  all  those  lives  would  probably  make 
could  they  now  be  written. 

"He  listened  carefully  to  the  charges 
they  preferred  against  me — that  one  paid 
officer  of  the  law  and  that  big  man,  the 
owner  of  the  stable — the  charges  they  pre- 
ferred against  me,  an  unknown  child. 

"Instantly  he  made  up  his  mind — he 
knew  at  once  just  the  best  way  to  handle 
my  case — how  best  to  put  me  in  the  frame 
of  mind  not  to  go  into  another  man's 
stable  to  sleep.  Why  shouldn't  this  man 
— this  judge — know  what  to  do  with  me? 
Hadn't  he  been  practising  on  other  boys 
for  years? 

"And  so  this  judge — this  man  who  had 
taken  an  oath  to  administer  justice  impar- 
tially to  all  who  came  before  him,  told  me 
in  open  court  before  many  people  that  I 
was  a  worthless,  vicious  boy — that  there 
wasn't  room  for  me  in  his  city,  and  he 


MY  FIRST  ARREST  35 

wound  up  his  tirade  by  giving  me  the  priv- 
ilege of  leaving  the  city  for  good  within 
twenty-four  hours  or  of  being  sent  away 
for  a  year.    I  chose  the  former. 

"Picture  that  crime  against  me! 

"Imagine  such  a  man  as  that  holding 
down  such  a  job! 

"He  practically  said  to  me  that  morning 
in  court  'You're  helpless  and  worthless. 
You'll  never  be  any  good.  You  belong  in 
prison,  but  get  out  of  here.  We  don't 
want  to  clog  our  jails  with  the  likes  of 
you.  Get  out  of  St.  Louis.  Go  some- 
where else  and  break  the  law  there — not 
here.' 

"I  crossed  the  river  to  East  St.  Louis 
on  a  boat.  I  don't  think  the  bridge  had 
been  built  then.  A  freight  on  the  Ohio 
and  Mississippi,  now  the  B.  &  O.,  was 
pulling  out  and  I  made  it. 

"I  got  as  far  as  Sandoval,  111.,  before 
the  crew  found  me  and  put  me  off.    Night 


36       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

was  falling  and  the  men  working  about 
the  fires  let  me  lie  down  in  the  warm  sand, 
where  I  was  soon  fast  asleep.  They  evi- 
dently suspected  I  was  a  waif,  for  they 
saved  scraps  of  bread  and  meat  from  their 
dinner  pails,  which  I  ate  with  great  relish 
in  the  morning.  Between  the  time  the 
night  shift  quit  and  the  day  gang  went  on 
I  was  on  my  way  afoot  down  the  railroad 
tracks.  At  Odin,  about  five  miles  distant, 
a  man  stopped  me  on  the  main  street  and 
asked  me  who  I  was  and  where  I  was 
going.  He  was  Levi  Meredith,  the  county 
surveyor.  My  size  or,  rather,  lack  of  it 
and  my  dilapidated  appearance  interested 
him.  I  assumed  the  name  of  Harry  Rob- 
inson, and  told  him  my  parents  were  dead. 
He  questioned  me  at  some  length  and 
finally  offered  me  a  home,  which  offer  I 
accepted.  In  a  week  I  was  sick  and  for 
almost  a  week  out  of  my  head.  To  my 
knowledge  it  was  the  first  time  Vd  ever 


MY  FIRST  ARREST  37 

had  a  doctor.  I  was  living  in  their  stable, 
and  it  was  then  I  got  sick  and  recovered. 
I  lived  there  five  weeks  before  the  wan- 
derlust overtook  me.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Meredith  were  away  the  day  I  left,  and 
before  going  I  emptied  the  pantry  of  a 
batch  of  gooseberry  pies — there  were 
seven  large  ones,  freshly  baked. 

"I  caught  a  freight  and  made  Vin- 
cennes,  Ind.,  the  end  of  the  division  I  was 
riding.  It  was  early  in  the  day,  and  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  quaint  French  town 
I  saw  a  substantial  brick  house,  where  I 
applied  for  food.  The  lady  of  the  place 
made  me  go  to  the  stable,  where  she  filled 
a  half  barrel  with  warm  water  and  I  took 
a  bath — the  freight  of  the  night  previous 
had  been  none  too  clean.  After  breakfast, 
and  a  good  one,  too,  I  went  to  sleep  in  the 
barn.  About  one  o'clock  a  coloured  girl 
from  the  house  awakened  me  and,  giving 
me  a  tin  pail,  informed  me  that  I  was  to 


38       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

go  to  the  raspberry  patch  and  pick  berries. 
The  pail  I  threw  away,  by  way  of  thanks, 
and  struck  out  along  the  tracks  of  the 
Terre  Haute  and  Vincennes  R.  R.  It 
was  very  hot,  and  before  I  had  gone  far 
I  fell  in  a  faint  on  the  tracks. 

"Just  ahead  of  me  was  a  work  train 
of  twelve  or  fifteen  flat  cars  heavily  loaded 
with  sand  and  railroad  ties.  In  order  to 
side-track  for  an  express  the  engineer 
backed  his  train  on  top  of  me.  The  pain 
and  shock  as  I  was  dragged  along  in  the 
sand  and  cinders  brought  me  back  to  con- 
sciousness and  I  screamed  as  men  never 
heard  mortal  scream  before.  The  brake- 
beam  of  the  last  car,  which  came  on  me 
first,  caught  my  arm  and  clothing,  and 
instead  of  being  cut  in  two  I  was  pushed 
and  dragged  along.  My  screams  of  agony 
were  heard  above  the  noise  of  the  moving 
train  and  it  was  brought  to  a  stop.  Men 
hurried  to  the  spot  and  lifted  me  out,  torn 


MY  FIRST  ARREST  39 

and  bleeding.    They  put  me  on  a  sand  car 
and  backed  into  Vincennes,  where  I  was 
removed  to  a  hotel  and  laid  out  on  a  card 
table,  where  a  doctor  went  over  my  hurts. 
Miraculous  as  it  may  seem,  I  was  not 
seriously  injured,  although  the  flesh  was 
badly  torn  from  my  right  arm,  both  above 
and  below  the  elbow.    A  carriage  took  me 
four  miles  outside  the  city  to  the  poor 
farm,  where  I  was  admitted  under  the 
name  of  Harry  Robinson.    I  am  sure  if 
any  of  the  papers  of  that  date  remain  on 
file,  an  account  of  the  accident  will  be 
found.     The  story  spread  rapidly,  and  a 
score  or  more  of  people  drove  out  the  next 
week  to  see  the  boy  who  had  been  run  over 
by  a  train  and  had  lived  to  tell  of  it.    In 
ten  days  I  was  able  to  be  about  again  and 
ran  away  to  the  railroad,  where  I  went 
blind  baggage,  and  at  Tunnelton,  Ohio, 
the  crew  found  me  all  but  blinded  by  the 
smoke  and  cinders.    I  was  in  mighty  bad 


40       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

shape.  They  took  me  off  and  left  me  with 
some  railroad  men,  who,  taking  pity  on 
me  because  of  my  age,  fixed  me  up  and 
fed  me  up.  In  a  short  time  I  was  able  to 
travel.  The  men  then  gave  me  a  pass  on 
a  passenger  train  to  Cincinnati. 

"I  was  sick  again  before  I  left  the  train, 
and,  after  two  or  three  days  of  aimless 
roving  about  Cincinnati,  I  was  desperate- 
ly ill  with  malarial  fever.  Being  a  Cath- 
olic by  birth  I  experienced  no  difficulty 
in  securing  admittance  to  a  Sisters'  Hos- 
pital. I've  forgotten  the  name  of  the  In- 
stitution, but  for  two  months  I  lay  there 
seriously  ill.  Finally  when  I  became  con- 
valescent they  transferred  me  to  a  Cath- 
olic Protectory  two  or  three  miles  outside 
the  city.  There  a  young  student  for  the 
priesthood  became  interested  in  me  and  I 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  his  company. 
Two  or  three  times  he  took  me  to  a  show 
in  the  city.    On  one  of  these  trips,  in  the 


MY  FIRST  ARREST  41 

meantime  having  become  restless,  I  ran 
away  from  him  and  the  institution.  I  re- 
member how  he  begged  me  not  to  leave 
him  as  an  escape  would  count  against  him. 
His  appeal  was  useless!  He  was  a  kind 
fellow,  for  he  might  have  spoken  to  the 
policeman  who  stood  near  us,  and  who 
would  have  arrested  me  at  once. 

"You  mustn't  forget  that  all  this  time 
I  was  stealing  everything  I  wanted  from 
any  one  I  wanted  to.  I  had  become  very- 
expert  with  my  hands.  I  could  pick  a 
door  lock,  open  a  locked  window,  extract 
a  pocket-book  or  open  a  cash  drawer  with 
great  skill  and  dexterity.  Nothing  fright- 
ened me,  nothing  stopped  me,  and  yet  I 
hadn't  reached  the  age  of  twelve. 

"Not  liking  Cincinnati,  now  that  I  had 
run  away  from  the  Protectory,  I  jumped 
a  freight  on  the  Panhandle  and  made 
Pittsburg.  On  leaving  the  railroad  yards 
I  braced  the  first  man  I  met  and  told 


42       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

him  a  hard  luck  story — a  bunch  of  lies,  of 
course.  He  proved  easy,  and  took  me  to 
his  house  near  an  iron  foundry,  of  which 
he  was  assistant  superintendent.  Fred- 
erick Jones  was  his  name.  I  wonder  if 
he  is  still  alive?  He  did  all  for  me  that  a 
father  could  have  done.  He  clothed  and 
fed  me  and  insisted  that  I  stay  with  him 
till  I  fully  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
the  fever.  When  I  was  again  able  to 
travel  he  took  up  a  collection  for  me  from 
among  his  friends,  and  with  the  money  we 
bought  a  ticket  to  New  York.  That  was 
the  first  time  I'd  ever  paid  for  a  fare  on  a 
railroad,  and  yet  I'd  ridden  hundreds  and 
hundreds  of  miles. 

"Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  in  those 
days  a  boy  with  a  ready  tongue  could  beg 
almost  anything  he  wanted,  I  did  compar- 
atively little  of  it.  It  was  too  tame,  it 
offered  no  excitement.  I  much  preferred 
to  steal,  for  that  seemed  to  satisfy  me. 


MY  FIRST  ARREST  43 

'Canada  Blackie,'  that  wonderful  exam- 
ple of  what  'love'  can  do  for  a  bad  man, 
said,  before  his  regeneration,  that  the 
greatest  sensation  he  ever  had  in  his  life 
he  experienced  while  he  held  a  loaded  re- 
volver to  the  head  of  an  engineer  and  or- 
dered him  to  stop  the  train.  I  know  what 
he  meant,  for  even  as  a  boy  I  experienced 
my  greatest  thrills  in  my  most  reckless 
and  daring  crimes. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  NEW  YORK  AND  IN  TROUBLE  IN  ONE 
NIGHT 

"On  my  very  first  night  in  New  York 
I  was  picked  up  by  a  cop.  I  was  charged 
with  a  terrible  crime — sleeping  in  a  hall- 
way! The  authorities  didn't  know,  mind 
you,  whether  I  was  a  good  boy  or  a  bad 
boy,  or  whether  I  had  ever  been  arrested 
before,  but  they  locked  me  in  a  cell  all 
right.  In  the  morning  a  chance  was  given 
me  to  tell  my  story  and  I  told  it.  I  told 
them  I  was  an  orphan  with  an  aunt  in 
Boston.  They  didn't  know  whether  I 
lied  or  told  the  truth.  They  made  no  ef- 
fort to  find  out. 

"Without  notifying  the  Boston  authori- 

44 


IN  TROUBLE  45 

ties  that  they  were  sending  them  a  young 
boy  and  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  him; 
without  waiting  to  learn  whether  I  would 
shortly  be  reported  missing  from  some 
home  in  New  York,  a  policeman  took  me 
to  the  Fall  River  Line  and  shipped  me 
East,  like  a  barrel  of  pork. 

"Suppose  your  little  boy  should  run 
away,  and  should  later  reach  the  police. 
Suppose  he  was  foolish  enough  or  wicked 
enough,  call  it  whatever  you  will,  to  tell 
the  police  he  lived  in  Boston.  Suppose 
the  police  did  with  him  as  they  did  with 
me.  Would  you  feel  that  such  a  system 
was  a  wise  one?  It  makes  a  vast  differ- 
ence, you  know,  whether  a  man  thinks 
generalities  or  whether  he  brings  the  case 
right  close  home. 

"In  those  days  and  in  much  later  days, 
too,  such  occurrences  were  common. 
There  was  no  reason  other  than  custom 
for  dealing  with  police  cases.    Everybody 


46       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

got  the  same  sort  of  senseless  treatment 
dictated  by  custom.  And  that  method 
came  right  on  down  through  the  years  un- 
altered, until  recently  such  men  as  Judge 
Ben  Lindsey  of  Denver  began  to  use  com- 
mon sense  and  humane  methods  with  re- 
sults that  have  astonished  a  public  long 
asleep,  and  have  saved  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  boys  from  leading  lives  of  crime. 
And  now  an  era  of  common  sense  and 
humanity  is  dawning  in  our  manner  of  ad- 
ministering prisons.  For  years  we  threw 
men  into  our  prisons.  And  what  did  we 
release  at  the  end  of  the  term?  Were  they 
better  or  worse  for  the  punishment? 
What  chance  had  they  to  go  straight? 
What  does  the  average  individual  think 
of  a  man  who  has  been  branded  as  a  crim- 
inal?   Tell  me! 


CHAPTER  V 

DOING   MY   FIRST   "BIT" 

"Boston  proved  easy.  For  about  four 
months  I  lived  high  and  indulged  my 
every  boyish  fancy  on  the  proceeds  of  my 
stealing.  I  tackled  everything  that  came 
within  my  ken  and  which  looked  at  all 
promising.  I  knew  no  fear.  Desire  at 
once  became  determination — determina- 
tion at  once  became  action. 

"One  day  I  deliberately  walked  into  a 
candy  store,  helped  myself  to  the  contents 
of  the  cash  drawer  and  got  away  before 
the  eyes  of  the  astonished  proprietress. 
But  I  had  been  too  bold,  too  many  had 
seen  the  trick  and  I  was  picked  up,  tried 
and  sent  away. 

47 


48       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"They  took  me  first  to  the  almshouse  at 
Tewkesbury,  a  sort  of  detention  station 
prior  to  delivery  at  a  reform  school.  But 
they  didn't  know  the  boy  they  were  hand- 
ling, and  as  they  made  no  effort  to  size 
me  up  they  paid  for  their  carelessness. 
On  the  third  day  I  planned  to  escape  and 
the  next  night  made  a  clean  'getaway'  and 
took  five  other  lads  with  me.  All  these 
boys  weakened  once  they  got  beyond  the 
walls  and  in  a  few  hours  all  of  them  had 
returned  and  given  themselves  up  to  the 
authorities.    Not  me,  however! 

"Daredevil,  reckless  kid  that  I  was,  I 
at  once  returned  to  Boston  and  stole  right 
and  left  under  their  very  noses.  Five 
weeks,  or  thereabouts,  thus  went  on  be- 
fore they  caught  me,  red  handed,  too, 
stealing  fruit  from  a  freight  car. 

"They  were  more  careful  in  their  hand- 
ling of  me  this  time  and  saw  to  it  that  I 
was  safely  landed  at  once  in  the  State  Pri- 


DOING  MY  FIRST  "BIT"  49 

mary  School  near  Palmer,  Mass.  Al- 
though it  was  about  noon  when  I  arrived, 
I  had  managed,  quite  easily  by  the  way, 
to  get  into  trouble  by  night,  and  then  it 
was  that  I  met  Jimmy  Lally,  the  hospital 
nurse. 

"With  the  exception  of  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal keepers  of  Sing  Sing  Prison,  he  was 
the  most  cruel  and  heartless  man  I  ever 
knew.  Each  of  them  gloried  in  and 
thrived  on  misery  and  pain  and  discom- 
fort in  others  and  neither  of  them  was  ever 
known  to  allow  an  opportunity  to  go  by 
uncancelled.  Two  men  more  wholly  un- 
fit for  the  jobs  they  held  never  lived.  I 
know.  I  served  under  each.  Under  one 
as  a  boy.  Under  the  other  as  a  man. 
Who  knows  better  than  I  know?  Who 
could  know  better  than  I  know?  Each  of 
these  men  secured  his  job  through  politics. 
Each  man  held  his  job  through  politics. 

"Jimmy  Lally  looked  at  me.    I  wonder 


50       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

if  he  knew  I  was  only  12  years  old?  I 
wonder  if  it  would  have  made  any  differ- 
ence if  he  had  known?  Two  huge  brass 
keys,  each  nearly  a  foot  long,  were  sus- 
pended about  his  waist  by  a  stout  cord. 
And  as  he  looked  at  me  he  slowly  drew 
this  cord  in  until  the  two  big  keys  came 
into  his  hands.    He  held  one  in  each  fist. 

"  'Jack  and  Mick  can  play  a  trick,'  he 
said. 

"As  he  spoke  the  word  'Jack'  he 
brought  the  key  in  his  right  hand  down  on 
the  top  of  my  head  with  a  resounding  blow 
and  as  he  spoke  the  word  'Mick'  the  key 
in  his  left  hand  struck  my  head  an  even 
harder  blow. 

"The  scalp  had  broken  in  two  places 
and  blood  streamed  down  my  face. 

"This  paid  officer  of  the  law  was  re- 
forming me! 

"You  know  what  hate  does  for  a  boy. 
You  know  what  brutality  does  for  a  boy. 


DOING  MY  FIRST  "BIT"  51 

I  was  no  exception.  I  hated  that  man 
from  that  moment.  At  times  I  would 
have  killed  him  had  I  found  the  chance. 
He  was  a  big  man  and  strong.  At  the 
time  I  met  him  he  was  about  sixty  years 
old.  I  wonder  how  many  other  boys' 
heads  he  busted?  While  I  was  there  it 
was  a  frequent  event,  and  he  always  pref- 
aced the  action  with  the  same  remark 
about  'Jack'  and  'Mick.' 

"Nor  was  he  the  only  brute  in  charge 
of  us.  I  was  struck  full  in  the  face  and 
knocked  prostrate  by  a  keeper's  clenched 
fist  many  times.  The  assistant  superin- 
tendent, a  big,  powerful  fellow  named 
Tibbetts,  set  the  styles  in  discipline  and  as 
he  had  been,  prior  to  his  appointment  at 
Palmer,  a  first  mate  on  deep  sea  sailing 
vessels,  you  can  imagine  how  kind,  con- 
siderate and  gentle  a  fellow  he  was  to 
place  in  charge  of  boys  with  whom  any 


52       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

results  were  wished  for  other  than  hard- 
ened, vicious  characters. 

"Tibbetts,  like  the  large  majority  then 
and  now,  was  a  political  office  holder. 

"I  was  always  a  rebel,  mind  you;  al- 
ways on  the  wrong  side  of  everything.  I 
needed  discipline,  and  that  badly.  But 
every  day  I  stayed  at  Palmer  the  chances 
of  my  reforming  were  growing  less  and 
less.  I  possessed  and  used  the  faculty  of 
causing  more  trouble  in  less  time  than  any 
boy  I  ever  knew  or  heard  tell  of.  But 
each  time  I  got  beat  up  and  came  away 
bleeding  I  added  a  little  more  to  my  al- 
ready large  quota  of  viciousness.  What 
could  you  expect  if  not  that?  I  wasn't 
old  enough  to  reason  that  anger  and  hate 
and  viciousness  would  get  me  nowhere. 

"After  two  visits  to  the  dungeons  or 
punishment  cells  I  did  learn  to  avoid  those 
infractions  of  rules  which  meant  'down 
stairs.'     It  was  too  terrible.     The  dun- 


DOING  MY  FIRST  "BIT"  53 

geons  and  all  they  meant  in  that  boys' 
school  at  Palmer  were  as  terrible  and  as 
cruel  as  those  for  hardened  burglars  in 
San  Quenten  and  Sing  Sing  in  their  palm- 
iest days.    Again,  I  know! 

"Can  you  imagine  the  effect  of  such 
treatment  on  the  minds  and  morals  of 
young  boys?  Thank  God  that  the  boys 
of  to-day  are  being  treated  in  a  somewhat 
more  humane  manner.  Thank  God  that 
correctional  institutions  are  now  making 
an  effort  to  correct  rather  than  to  crush — 
to  build  up  rather  than  to  tear  down. 
Thank  God  for  such  a  woman  as  Mother 
Booth  and  for  such  men  as  Thomas 
Mott  Osborne,  Dean  Kirchway,  Canada 
Blackie,  Jack  Murphy,  Donald  Lowrie, 
and  others  of  the  new  penology !  A  bright 
era  has  dawned  and  we've  all  got  to  keep 
it  going! 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN   WHICH   I   AM   BOUND   OUT 

"After  I  had  been  at  Palmer  about  a 
year,  or  possibly  a  little  longer — after  my 
body  was  covered  with  marks  and  bruises 
where  they  had  beaten  me  black  and  blue 
to  reform  me  and  teach  me  what  love 
meant,  the  great  state  bound  me  out  to  a 
German  and  his  wife  at  East  Hampton. 
This  man,  whose  name  I've  forgotten,  was 
the  foreman  in  a  suspender  factory.  As 
was  then  the  custom  I  was  to  remain  with 
him  until  I  was  twenty-one,  during  which 
time  he  was  to  care  for  me  and  give  me  a 
home.  And  I  in  turn  was  to  learn  his 
trade  and  answer  to  him  in  all  ways.  And 
so  I  went  to  work  in  his  shop.    It  lasted 

54 


IN  WHICH  I  AM  BOUND  OUT       55 

longer  than  I  had  expected  it  would.  A 
long  five  weeks  went  by  before  I  decided 
that  I  had  learned  all  I  wanted  to  about 
the  manufacture  of  suspenders.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  beat  it.  How  was  I  to  do 
it?  Instantly  the  answer  came.  I  was  at 
my  bench  at  the  time.  I  dropped  what  I 
was  doing  and  went  straight  away  to  the 
grocer  with  whom  the  foreman  traded.  I 
told  that  grocer  in  a  plain,  simple  manner 
that  my  boss  had  sent  me  to  him  to  borrow 
ten  dollars  until  that  night.  Of  course 
the  merchant  was  sceptical  and  refused  to 
let  me  have  the  money.  Instead  of  letting 
it  go  at  that  (as  most  boys  would  have 
done)  I  argued  with  him  until  he  was 
finally  sorry  I  hadn't  asked  him  for  twen- 
ty.   He  gave  me  the  ten. 

"I  thanked  him  and  left  the  store.  In- 
stead of  walking  in  the  direction  of  the 
shop  where  my  boss  was,  I  went  in  the  op- 
posite direction — down  the  railroad  ties 


56       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

at  that — with  the  ten  dollars  in  my  pocket 
and  with  the  grocer  looking  at  me  in  open- 
mouthed  amazement.  However,  he  wasn't 
long  in  reaching  my  boss  with  the  story 
and  they  lost  no  time  in  getting  a  horse 
and  buggy.  They  caught  me,  of  course, 
and  brought  me  back  to  town.  That  night 
after  supper  we  took  a  second  buggy  ride 
and  the  big  front  doors  of  the  State  Pri- 
mary School  at  Palmer  closed  with  a  bang 
at  my  back  and  I  was  again  a  prisoner. 

"During  the  few  weeks  in  which  I  had 
been  away  from  the  School,  the  Super- 
intendent had  gone  and  a  new  man 
had  been  appointed  in  his  place.  Mr. 
Bradford  was  a  very  different  sort.  He 
was  kind,  naturally.  His  being  a  relative 
of  the  then  Lieutenant  Governor  of  the 
State  accounted  no  doubt  for  a  man  of 
his  temperament  being  appointed  to  the 
School.     During  the  Civil  War  he  had 


IN  WHICH  I  AM  BOUND  OUT       57 

served  as  a  chaplain  of  a  Massachusetts 
regiment,  I  believe. 

"Very  soon  Mr.  Bradford  began  to  have 
serious  trouble  with  me  and  my  record  was 
looked  up  more  thoroughly  than  ever  be- 
fore. He  decided  that  Palmer  was  not 
the  sort  of  a  place  I  required  and  so  he 
had  me  transferred  to  the  Home  for  In- 
corrigible Boys  at  Deer  Island. 

"At  this  place  I  came  under  Superin- 
tendent Blackstone.  Here  I  found  the 
food  was  quite  a  bit  better  than  at  Palmer, 
but  outside  of  that  I  had  stepped  from 
the  frying  pan  into  the  fire  or  even  worse. 
It  was  an  institution  for  incorrigibles ! 
They  said  so  themselves !  They  admitted 
that  each  inmate  was  a  hopeless  case,  so 
why  question  it.  Why  try  and  find  even 
one  soul  among  them  who  wasn't?  What 
was  the  use  of  trying  to  make  them  better 
boys  ?  You  wouldn't  treat  a  dog  one-half 
as  badly  as  they  treated  us.     You'd  be 


58       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

afraid  the  dog  would  spring  at  you  and 
tear  you  to  pieces.  And  the  dog  would, 
too,  if  it  got  the  chance  and  no  onlooker 
would  blame  the  animal.  They  had  the 
school  at  Palmer  resembling  a  kindergar- 
ten by  comparison.  If  you  fell  asleep  in 
church  you  got  three  or  four  days  in  a 
dungeon  on  a  scant  measure  of  bread  and 
water  once  in  twenty-four  hours.  These 
dungeons  were  dark,  damp  holes  in  the 
cellar,  without  a  bed  or  mattress.  Some- 
times you  got  a  board  to  sleep  on.  There 
were  no  toilets,  so  we  used  the  bucket  sys- 
tem. 

"If  an  instructor  or  a  guard  smashed 
you  in  the  face  and  floored  you  and  you 
happened  to  crawl  to  your  feet  sooner 
than  was  expected  you  got  a  second  smash 
or  a  vicious  kick.  Then  after  that  you  lay 
still! 

"I  went  through  all  this!  I  went 
through  it  at  a  time  in  my  life  when  a 


IN  WHICH  I  AM  BOUND  OUT       59 

boy's  character  is  most  easily  swayed  and 
bent  and  moulded  into  something  very  dif- 
ficult to  change  as  year  follows  year. 

"However,  I  had  broken  laws.  I  was  a 
thief  and  I  should  be  punished.  The  fact 
that  I  was  only  a  young  lad  (as  were  all 
the  inmates)  didn't  seem  to  make  any  dif- 
ference as  to  the  kind  of  punishment  they 
handed  out. 

"Blackstone  soon  discovered  that  his 
brutal  treatment  had  but  one  effect  on 
me.  It  increased  my  viciousness  and 
wickedness  and  so  again  I  was  bound  out 
to  serve  a  new  master.  This  time  it  was 
to  a  young  farmer  whose  name  I  can't 
recall.  The  exact  location,  too,  I've  for- 
gotten, although  I  remember  it  was  a 
small  village  on  the  border  between  Maine 
and  New  Hampshire. 

"The  night  of  my  arrival  he  met  me  at 
the  train,  assumed  responsibility  for  me 
and  away  we  went.     We  sat  up  nearly 


60       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

all  night  in  front  of  a  big  log  fire  and 
talked.  He  asked  me  a  thousand  and  one 
questions  about  myself  and  about  the  jails 
I'd  been  in.  He  called  them  jails,  but  the 
state  called  them  reform  schools.  I  told 
him  all  he  wanted  to  know  and  more. 
Without  realising  it  I  frightened  him  so 
badly  that  when  at  last  I  went  to  bed  he 
sat  down  and  wrote  the  authorities  at 
Deer  Island  to  come  and  get  me,  which 
they  did — and  so  I  didn't  become  a 
farmer. 

"Back  at  Deer  Island  among  the  in- 
corrigibles,  myself  one  of  them!  Back  in 
the  dungeon !  Unconscious  on  the  floor — 
knocked  there  by  a  paid  servant  of  the 
law !    And  me  a  young  boy ! 

"They  simply  couldn't  stand  for  me; 
that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  They  must 
get  rid  of  me.  This  time  they  bound  me 
over  to  Sanborn  and  Boardman  Co.,  of 
Newburyport,  Mass.,  the  owners  of  the 


IN  WHICH  I  AM  BOUND  OUT       61 

good  ship  Hiawatha,  a  two-master  in  the 
cod  fishing  industry  plying  between  New- 
buryport  and  Labrador.  For  them  I  was 
to  make  one  voyage  and  need  not  return 
to  the  Home  at  Deer  Island. 

"And  so  for  the  last  time  I  left  a  Re- 
formatory— re-form — a  place  where  a 
boy's  habits,  character  and  thoughts  are 
supposed  to  be  made  over  again — new  and 
fresh  and  good. 

"Perhaps  they  did  try! 

"Perhaps  the  fault  was  all  mine! 

"I  knew  little  enough  of  good  the  first 
time  I  went  to  a  Reformatory,  but  I  knew 
everything  that  was  wrong  when  I  left 
my  last  one! 

"When  I  was  46  years  old  after  my  last 
prison  term  I  didn't  know  a  bit  more 
wrong  than  I  had  been  taught  or  had  gath- 
ered in  Reform  Schools.  I  simply  had 
had  more  experience,  that's  all. 

"When    I    stood,    unashamed,    before 


62       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

Judge  Cowing  to  receive  a  sentence  that 
was  to  take  me  to  Sing  Sing  Prison  he 
said  to  me  in  effect,  'John  Goode,  your 
name  had  better  have  been  John  Bad. 
You've  broken  every  trust  ever  laid  on 
you.  You  were  paid  to  uphold  the  law — 
you  were  a  policeman,  and  yet  you've 
broken  the  law  time  and  time  again. 
You're  a  bad  man;  I  wish  I  might  give 
you  a  longer  sentence.    You  deserve  it.' 

"Yes,  he  was  right.  But  he  didn't  go 
far  enough,  that's  all.  He  might,  and  I 
think  he  should,  have  told  the  crowd  of 
morbid  people  who  were  eagerly  listening 
that  I  had  received  my  criminal  educa- 
tion in  reform  schools :  that  I  was  a  prod- 
uct of  the  then  method  of  handling  bad 
boys. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ON   BOARD   SHIP — BOUND   OUT 

"The  night  before  the  schooner  sailed 
I  was  delivered  to  the  skipper  and  locked 
in  a  top  floor  room  of  his  house  with  the 
grown  daughter  of  the  family  on  guard 
outside. 

"I  was  to  sail  in  the  morning  on  that 
ship — that  abiding  place  of  the  devil — that 
piece  of  hell !  I  figured  anything  was  bet- 
ter than  the  place  I  had  left,  so  I  lay  down 
and  went  to  sleep ! 

"Never  so  long  as  I  live  will  I  forget 
the  scene  on  the  wharf  at  sailing  time.  I, 
alone,  of  all  who  sailed,  walked  aboard  the 
vessel.  Some  crawled  aboard,  others  were 
carried  aboard  and  the  rest  were  thrown 


64       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

aboard.  Each  man  had  a  skinful  of  booze. 
It  had  been  their  last  night  ashore  for  six 
months  to  come.  As  we  were  to  be  towed 
out  of  the  harbour  and  sail  up  the  coast 
light  there  was  no  last  minute  loading  or 
work  to  do  and  the  men  made  the  most 
of  their  time  in  the  neighbouring  'shock' 
houses. 

"And  thus  we  sailed!  At  the  time  it 
made  no  great  impression  on  me  because 
that's  about  all  I'd  ever  seen.  But  now 
as  I  look  back  at  it  I  sicken — positively 
sicken !  You  know  what  the  voyage  must 
have  been !  You've  seen  both  sides  of  lif e. 
Fourteen  men  with  little  to  do  on  the  run 
up,  more  than  enough  to  do  while  fishing 
and  little  to  do  on  the  run  down.  Away 
from  civilisation,  away  from  booze — away 
from  women — ungovernable  tempers — 
vilest  of  tongues ! 

"I  needn't  tell  you  how  I  was  mistreat- 
ed and  abused  and  struck.     I  won't  tell 


ON  BOARD  SHIP— BOUND  OUT       65 

you  why  I  was  kicked  bodily  down  into 
the  hold  of  that  vessel  among  thousands 
of  dead  fish  and  the  man  who  did  it  not 
knowing  whether  I  was  dead  or  alive  and 
not  caring!  The  point  is  I  lived  through 
it  and  in  six  months'  time  was  back  home. 
Home !  .What  a  word  for  me  to  use  about 
myself. 

"The  skipper  gave  me  an  old  sou-west- 
er, a  pair  of  rubber  boots  and  two  dollars 
and  I  had  been  paid!    I  was  free! 

"I  need  not  go  back  to  the  reformatory 
for  they  were  through  with  me.  They  had 
reformed  me — the  great  State  of  Massa- 
chusetts virtually  said  so  in  releasing  me. 
And,  furthermore,  had  they  not  found  a 
place  for  me  where  I  could  prove  my  fit- 
ness and  prove  myself  a  good  boy?  Had 
they  not  bound  me  out  to  the  skipper  of 
the  good  ship  Hiawatha?  Surely  they  had 
done  enough !  Had  they  not  left  my  body 
covered  with  marks  where  they  had  beaten 


m       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

me  to  teach  me  the  difference  between 
right  and  wrong?  What  more  could  any 
reasonable  boy  expect?  Yes,  I  was  free! 
And  so  out  again  I  went  alone  to  face  the 
world — to  buck  and  beat  the  tides  of  for- 
tune. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN   WHICH   I   MEET   MY  AUNT 

"The  old  desire  to  go  to  my  mother's 
sister  again  came  over  me  and  at  once  I 
was  on  my  way.  Well  do  I  remember  ar- 
riving at  her  house  and  how  shy  I  felt  and 
how  I  hesitated  about  entering.  Well  do 
I  remember  how  glad  she  was  to  see  me, 
how  she  cried  and  hugged  and  kissed  me 
on  learning  who  the  big,  raw  lad  in  front 
of  her  was. 

"How  strange  it  seemed!  How  awk- 
ward I  felt!  How  I  shrank  from  her 
caresses !  It  was  more  than  I  could  under- 
stand. Other  women  and  girls  had  kissed 
me.  But  not  because  they  were  glad  to 
see  me.     Not  because  they  had  learned 

67 


68       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

who  I  was.  Why  did  she?  I  know  now — 
she  loved  me — but  I  didn't  know  then. 

"I  had  no  more  than  arrived  when  I  be- 
gan to  get  uneasy.  I  remained  with  her 
only  a  few  hours.  The  rooms  seemed  to 
suffocate  me  and  the  thought  of  remain- 
ing inactive  and  in  such  small  quarters 
sickened  me. 

"At  noon  time  my  aunt  put  a  good,  big 
hot  meal  in  front  of  me.  It  was  then  that 
I  told  her  I  must  be  going  on  my  way. 
One  of  the  fishermen  had  told  me  about 
Philadelphia  and  I  had  decided  to  go 
there.  My  aunt  gave  me  five  or  six  dol- 
lars, all  she  had  in  the  house.  As  I  was 
leaving  I  remember  her  looking  at  my  feet 
and  all  that  remained  of  the  boots  I  was 
wearing  tied  to  my  feet  with  coarse  string. 
She  called  me  back  and  taking  off  her 
own  shoes  gave  them  to  me  and  I  was 
off! 


IN  WHICH  I  MEET  MY  AUNT       69 

John  Goode  paused,  arose  from  his 
chair  and  strode  heavily  up  and  down  the 
room.  Violent  emotions  surged  through 
his  huge  frame.  He  stopped  in  front  of 
his  chair.  I  feared  he  had  reached  a  point 
where  he  could  go  no  further.  I  was  about 
to  speak — to  change  the  subject — when 
he  resumed  his  seat,  and  looking  me  full 
in  the  eyes,  said : 

"I  remember  I  was  tempted  to  go  back 
to  my  aunt  late  that  afternoon." 

A  far-away  look  settled  over  his  face 
and  I  knew  he  was  thinking  of  all  the 
years  he  had  lost — of  all  that  might  have 
been  his  had  he  but  heeded  the  first  good 
temptation  he  had  ever  known.  After  a 
while  he  regained  his  composure  and  re- 
sumed: 

"I  made  Philadelphia  on  the  trucks  in 


70       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

four  days.  Part  of  my  money  I  spent  on 
clothing  of  which  I  was  in  sore  need. 

"What  a  strange  thing  it  is  how  easily 
like  meets  like  in  this  world  ofttimes  with 
little  or  no  effort.  Immediately  I  ran 
into  a  gang  of  men  who  had  boys  stealing 
for  them  both  in  the  city  and  on  the  road, 
and  as  I  knew  that  well  and  nothing  else 
I  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  a  job  and 
on  the  road  I  went. 

"You  probably  wonder  how  it  was  that 
most  of  the  people  I  met  were  thieves 
working  gangs  of  boys.  Wouldn't  it  have 
been  stranger  otherwise?  I  was  riding 
freights  mostly.  Such  men  in  those  days 
made  their  headquarters  in  or  near  rail- 
road yards  and  they  were  on  the  lookout 
for  boys.  I  was  a  boy.  They  knew  the 
type  of  lad  I  represented.  I  knew  the 
type  of  man  they  represented.  It  didn't 
take  long  to  get  wise,  for  we  didn't  talk 
weather,  politics  or  foreign  exploration. 


CHAPTER  IX 

NOW   A   PROFESSIONAL   THIEF 

"In  exactly  the  same  way  that  I  beat 
my  way  East  as  an  eleven-year-old  boy  I 
now  retraced  my  steps  and  beat  my  way 
West  as  an  experienced  and  expert  thief. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  it  was  that  gambling 
got  so  strong  a  hold  on  me.  I  had  always 
gambled  even  as  a  small  boy,  but  the  habit 
grew  on  me  rapidly  now  as  all  evil  habits 
do  until  all  at  once  I  realised  that  I  was  its 
slave — I  was  completely  in  its  grip.  So 
badly  had  I  the  habit  that  instead  of  steal- 
ing because  stealing  satisfied  me,  I  found 
I  was  stealing  in  order  that  I  might  have 
means  with  which  to  satisfy  my  desire  for 
chance — for  the  table,  the  cards  and  the 
horses. 

71 


72       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"By  this  time  I  must  confess  I  knew 
fully  the  wrong  in  the  life  I  was  leading. 
I  was  now  beyond  fifteen  and  ignorance 
could  excuse  me  no  longer.  My  powers 
of  observation  were  naturally  keen  and 
the  training  they  had  received  had  not 
dulled  them  any.  I  had  suddenly  realised 
that  the  side  of  the  fence  I  had  chosen  for 
my  path  through  life  was  the  crooked  one. 

"I  began  to  think  about  it.  I  began  to 
wonder  about  people  and  about  things. 
This  was  something  I'd  never  done  before. 
It  proved  mighty  interesting.  The  peo- 
ple I  thought  about  and  the  things  I 
thought  about  were  the  only  people  and 
the  only  things  I  knew.  I  couldn't  get 
outside  of  my  environment  and  so  I  didn't 
change.  And  I  know  lots  of  people  to- 
day who  ought  to  get  outside  of  their  pres- 
ent environment  but  who  can't. 

"I  knew  the  biggest  gamblers  between 
New  York  and  Chicago  and  I  frequented 


NOW  A  PROFESSIONAL  THIEF       73 

their  places.  I  knew  the  most  daring 
'yeggmen' — the  most  skilful  'dips' — the 
whole  profession  in  fact.  And  so  when  I 
began  to  think  about  people  those  were 
the  people  I  thought  about.  I  knew  those 
people  were  doing  dishonest  and  unlawful 
things  and  so  when  I  began  to  think  about 
things  those  were  the  things  I  thought 
about.  Like  thousands  and  thousands  of 
other  folks  I  did  all  my  thinking  along  the 
lines  of  least  resistance! 

"Heretofore  most  of  my  stealing  had 
been  done  because  I  needed  something — 
food — clothes — fares  or  living  necessities 
of  one  sort  or  another.  Now,  however, 
came  the  big  change.  I  began  to  steal  as 
a  business,  as  a  profession.  And  at  fif- 
teen then  I  had  become  a  professional 
thief.  That  means  one  who  realises  the 
wrong  when  he  stops  to  think  about  it 
(which  he  never  does),  one  who  willingly 
and  without  duress  accepts  such  work  as  a 


74       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

life  task,  as  a  means  of  accomplishing  that 
which  has  domination  over  the  mind.  As 
the  desire  for  gambling  dominated  all  else 
in  me  I  became  a  professional  thief  that  I 
might  gamble  with  the  proceeds ! 

"What  does  it  matter  how  many  other 
times  I  was  arrested  for  breaking  the  law 
or  how  many  other  prison  terms  I  served? 
I've  told  you  in  detail  my  life  to  this  point 
simply  because  these  events  took  place 
when  I  was  a  boy.  And  an  uneducated, 
untrained  and  naturally  wild  boy  of  eleven 
or  thirteen  or  fifteen  should  not  be  expect- 
ed to  reason  out  successfully  problems  as 
big  as  my  problems  were.  It  isn't  reason- 
able. As  I  look  back  at  it  all  now  I  can 
excuse  the  result  I  had  become  at  fifteen. 
From  then  on,  however,  I  can't  excuse  it 
and  I  make  no  effort  to  do  so. 

"I  want  to  pass  over  the  next  ten  or 
fifteen  years  quickly  but  I  want  you  to 
know  them  because  I  want  you  to  know 


NOW  A  PROFESSIONAL  THIEF       75 

the  sort  of  a  creature  I  was  when  I  first 
began  to  know  what  life  really  meant — to 
know  what  opportunities  life  gives  us — to 
know  the  joy  of  being  of  use  and  of  do- 
ing for  others — to  know  the  purpose  for 
which  God  put  me  here. 

"Yes,  I  went  to  prison  again  and  again. 
The  only  reason  I  am  not  a  murderer  is 
because  the  bottle  I  used  as  a  club  was  a 
full  one  and  it  broke  when  it  smashed  his 
skull.  In  prison  I  was  punished  again 
and  again.  And  after  an  absence  of  about 
fifteen  years  New  York  again  became  my 
hangout. 

"I  had  reached  manhood  and  ten  years 
more — physically,  I  mean.  Mentally  and 
morally  I  hadn't  even  begun.  Each  suc- 
ceeding year  my  disposition  had  become 
meaner,  dirtier  and  blacker.  My  temper 
was  a  thing  to  dread  and  my  size  and 
strength  coupled  with  it  made  a  combina- 
tion few  men  dared  question. 


CHAPTER  X 

GETTING  IN   RIGHT 

"Society  owed  me  a  living,  I  reasoned 
out  and  I  proceeded  to  collect  it.  Noth- 
ing good  got  even  a  look-in  at  my  soul. 
I  hated  all  men  who  were  honest  and  I  be- 
lieved there  were  very  few  such.  Every 
one  I  knew  was  a  grafter.  My  only  de- 
sire was  to  gamble  and  I  was  cheap  and 
dishonest  even  among  my  own  kind. 

"What  thief  and  gambler  is  there  who 
doesn't  finally  locate  in  New  York  to  stay 
until  it  gets  too  warm  for  him?  And  so 
I  came.  The  crowds  of  visitors,  the  ex- 
citement, the  chance  for  easy  money,  all 
these  things  entranced  and  held  me.  Co- 
ney Island  and  its  adjacent  race  tracks 

76 


GETTING  IN  RIGHT  77 

thrilled  me.  It  goes  without  saying  that 
I  was  a  hard  drinker — a  drunk.  For  a 
long  time  I  didn't  use  whiskey,  but  the 
day  came.  After  repeated  losses  my 
nerves  needed  something  to  brace  them 
and  whiskey  did  the  trick.  Thousands  of 
men  start  that  way. 

"I  hadn't  been  here  in  New  York  long 
before  I  became  acquainted  with  a  bunch 
of  cheap  ward  politicians — the  hangers-on 
to  those  who  governed  your  city.  Thank 
God  their  kind  is  fast  disappearing. 
Events  of  the  past  few  years  have  either 
cleaned  them  out  or  compelled  them  to  put 
on  the  soft  pedal.  Things  began  to  come 
easier.  My  new  friends,  each  a  gambler 
and  drinker,  were  wise  and  I  lost  no  time 
in  getting  wise  too! 

".With  friends  like  my  new  ones,  poli- 
ticians, I  became  more  daring,  more  reck- 
less. It  was  easy  to  avoid  trouble,  for  in- 
fluence was  bought  and  sold  like  any  of 


78       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

the  household  commodities  you  are  fa- 
miliar with.  Protection  was  an  article  of 
merchandise  like  coal  or  like  stocks.  The 
price  fluctuated  with  the  conditions. 
Sometimes  it  was  cheap — sometimes  ex- 
pensive, but  it  could  always  be  had.  Some- 
times it  was  bought  with  cash,  sometimes 
with  cigars,  whiskey  and  women,  and  at 
other  times  with  personal  service. 

"I  became  a  part  of  that  side  of  New 
York.  I  aligned  myself  with  the  lowest 
and  most  despicable  end  of  society  and  I 
did  it  all  with  a  full  knowledge  of  what 
it  meant. 

"It  was  about  this  time  that  women  be- 
came a  factor  in  my  life.  Women  figured 
largely  in  the  new  circle  of  friends  among 
whom  I  was  now  travelling.  I  mean 
women — not  wives!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  WHICH  I  MARRY 

"About  this  time  I  learned  of  a  woman 
who  was  employed  in  the  rectory  of  one  of 
New  York's  swellest  churches  on  a  street 
in  the  Twenties.  This  woman  had  a  bank 
roll  of  about  two  thousand  dollars,  the 
hard-earned  savings  of  many  years  of  toil. 
To  me  that  sounded  good.  With  two 
thousand  dollars  I  could  make  a  killing  at 
the  track.  The  more  I  thought  about  that 
two  thousand  the  more  I  wanted  it.  The 
more  I  thought  about  owning  it  the  more 
I  thought  about  owning  the  owner  of  that 
two  thousand  also.  I  laid  a  wager  I'd 
get  her. 

"It  was  time  I  married.  All  my  friends, 

79 


80       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

the  cheap  politicians,  were  married.  There 
were  times  in  the  life  we  were  leading 
when  it  was  a  good  thing  to  be  known  as 
being  married.  When  it  wasn't  necessary 
as  a  sort  of  protection  they  didn't  care 
whether  any  one  knew  they  were  married 
or  not.  And  then  again,  a  home  and  a 
wife  were  handy,  convenient  things  when 
one  wanted  to  sleep  off  a  drunk  or  when 
one  wanted  a  game  of  poker.  It  would 
be  convenient  for  me  to  have  a  wife  now 
and  so  I  promptly  set  out  to  get  one. 

"Did  I  love  this  woman?  No,  I  did  not. 
I  couldn't  for  the  life  of  me  have  told  what 
it  meant  to  love.  And  so  I  deceived  this 
good,  pure  woman  that  I  might  make  her 
my  wife,  secure  her  savings  and  then  treat 
her  as  fancy  dictated,  keep  her  or  throw 
her  over.  I  covered  up  my  past.  That 
was  easy  for  she  believed  in  me.  I  asso- 
ciated myself  with  her  church  and  through 
her  I  was  made  its  janitor.    It's  hard  for  a 


IN  WHICH  I  MARRY  81 

man  to  believe  that  any  one  could  be  as 
yellow  as  I  was  with  that  woman.  But 
the  fact  remains  that  I  was.  I  married 
before  she  even  suspected  that  I  drank. 
Here  I  was,  a  lying,  drinking,  gambling, 
thieving  man,  a  Catholic  janitor  of  a 
Protestant  Church  and  the  husband  of  as 
pure  and  innocent  a  woman  as  ever  lived. 

"It's  hard  to  tell  a  story  like  this,  but 
it's  the  truth !  That's  the  thing  I  had  be- 
come !  That's  what  years  of  sin  made  me 
— that's  what  sin  will  make  of  any  one  if 
given  time.  Not  only  because  it's  true  do 
I  want  to  tell  it  but  because  through  sev- 
enteen years  of  the  same  treatment,  yes 
and  worse  treatment,  that  true  and  brave 
and  loyal  little  woman  stood  by  me  and 
her  marriage  vows — for  better  or  for 
worse,  they  had  been! 

"The  two  thousand  was  easily  obtained 
and  went  as  easily  just  as  planned.  Then 
we  were  busted.    And  so  again  I  went  to 


82       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

stealing  for  I  had  to  drink  and  I  had  to 
gamble  and  that  required  more  money 
than  the  church  paid  me. 

"We  were  now  in  a  little  place  of  our 
own,  she  in  the  meantime  having  left  her 
duties  in  the  rectory.  The  women  of  the 
parish,  many  of  them  very  wealthy,  loved 
my  wife  and  some  of  them  visited  her  in 
our  little  home.  I  met  them  both  at  home 
and  at  the  church,  and  I  acknowledged 
their  love  and  their  many  kindnesses  to  my 
wife  by  helping  myself  to  those  of  their 
belongings  which  pleased  my  fancy. 

"Sometimes  I  came  home  to  her  regu- 
larly. Sometimes  for  days  and  weeks  at 
a  time  she  didn't  know  whether  I  was  dead 
or  alive. 

"But  she  prayed! 

"She  prayed  for  me  till  the  day  she 
passed  away. 

"God  answers  prayer.  He  answered 
hers.     That's  my  greatest  comfort  now! 


IN  WHICH  I  MARRY  83 

"And  then  came  a  time  when  she,  penni- 
less and  alone,  was  forced  to  go  out  and 
earn  her  own  living.  She  could  get  noth- 
ing from  me  and  she  was  too  proud  to  ask 
for  aid  at  the  only  other  place  where  she 
might  have  expected  to  find  it  and  where 
she  would  have  found  it.  And  thus  things 
went  on!  More  and  more  of  the  time  I 
was  away  and  one  after  another  of  her 
friends  dropped  their  calling.  She  would 
not  give  me  up  so  they  were  forced  to  give 
lis  up. 

"When  I  needed  money  quickly,  which 
happened  frequently,  I'd  take  all  she  had 
— steal  her  paltry  earnings — clean  her  out 
of  everything  of  value.  Time  after  time 
this  happened  and  still  she  stuck,  wishing, 
hoping,  begging,  crying,  praying  that  I 
would  change. 

"And  me?  Yes,  I  promised!  I'd 
promise  anything  for  money! 


84       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"That  then  was  the  sort  of  husband  I 
made  her. 

"There  are  men  to-day  doing  the  same 
things.  I  want  them  to  know  my  story — 
to  know  that  no  matter  how  far  down  a 
fellow  gets  there's  a  sure  road  up — a  sure 
road  to  happiness  for  them  and  for  their 
wives ! 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  WHICH  I  BEGIN  TO  SLIDE  DOWNHILL 
FROM  WHICH  THERE  IS  BUT  ONE  PATH 
BACK 

"The  New  York  pace  in  the  under- 
world to  which  I  belonged  was  a  pretty 
stiff  one.  It  required  great  nerve  force  to 
keep  it  up.  A  man  needs  stimulation  in 
order  to  stand  it  long.  The  life  keeps  a 
man  up  day  and  night.  I  was  no  excep- 
tion and  I  needed  stimulation.  Like  all  in 
my  class  I  thought  whiskey  gave  it  to  me. 
Before  long  I  was  either  drunk  or  half 
drunk  day  and  night.  And  then  my  skill 
as  a  thief  began,  little  by  little,  to  disap- 
pear. I  bungled  things  that  I  used  to  get 
away  with  easily.    My  nerve  had  gone  too. 

85 


86       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

The  sharp,  keen  edge  of  my  wits  had  be- 
come dulled  by  drink.  The  days  of  easy 
money  were  gone.  It  was  harder  and 
harder  to  get.  And  then  came  a  time 
when  I  was  forced  to  go  to  my  friends,  the 
politicians,  and  ask  for  a  job. 

"There  was  still  enough  of  me  left  in- 
tact so  that  at  times  I  could  be  of  use  to 
them  and  I  got  the  job.  They  made  me  a 
foreman  in  the  Street  Cleaning  Depart- 
ment. What  a  fine  specimen  of  a  man  to 
be  working  for  the  city!  What  a  type  to 
put  in  charge  of  their  workmen.  How- 
ever, I  was  part  of  a  rotten  political  bunch 
and  I  was  taken  care  of  just  as  others,  be- 
fore and  after  me,  were  cared  for. 

"There  on  the  department  things  eased 
up  a  bit.  There  was  considerable  to  be 
had  in  the  way  of  graft  and  I  wasn't  long 
in  getting  wise.  To  most  of  it,  I  had  been 
tipped  off  in  advance.    The  rest  I  dug  up 


I  BEGIN  TO  SLIDE  DOWNHILL       87 

and  developed  myself.  The  biggest  clean- 
up came  from  the  snow. 

"My  wife  got  none  of  my  money,  not 
even  my  salary.  I  gambled  it  all  away 
long  before  I  received  it.  She  was  earn- 
ing what  she  could  in  a  bitter  fight  to 
clothe  and  feed  herself  and  pay  the  rent. 

"I  pulled  myself  together  temporarily 
after  I  had  been  on  the  Street  Cleaning 
Department  about  three  years.  I  went  a 
step  higher  through  the  same  politicians. 

"All  my  life,  mind  you,  I  had  broken 
the  law — the  law  of  every  state  and  city 
I'd  ever  visited.  Law  was  nothing  to  me. 
Those  who  were  paid  to  uphold  the  law 
were  nothing  to  me  except  grafters.  I 
didn't  believe  there  was  an  honest  police- 
man in  the  world.  Every  one  I  had  known 
was  crooked.  Understand  me,  please,  I 
don't  want  to  cast  any  suspicion  on  police- 
men as  a  group.  I  am  telling  only  what 
I  know  from  personal  experience.    All  of 


88       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

my  intimate  friends  among  them  and 
among  those  who  in  any  way  contributed 
to  the  conduct  of  the  great  city  of  New 
York  were  crooks  or  grafters  in  a  small  or 
big  way,  depending  only  on  opportunity. 

"Despite  my  record  and  my  principles, 
well  known  to  all  who  were  instrumental 
in  securing  my  appointment,  I  was  made 
a  member  of  the  city  police  force  in  June 
of  1900.  There,  of  course,  I  had  all  sorts 
of  opportunity  for  inside  information  on 
the  ponies.  I  knew  all  the  poolrooms  and 
all  the  bookmakers.  In  addition  there 
were  always  crooks  and  gamblers  anxious 
to  stand  in  with  the  cops  and  thus  I  was 
always  getting  good  tips. 

"Never  in  my  life  had  I  gambled  so 
recklessly.  I  could  think  of  nothing  else 
and  did  nothing  else.  In  all  the  time  I 
was  on  the  force  I  didn't  do  one  honest 
day's  work.  I  didn't  have  to.  I  was  in 
right  at  first  and  after  that  I  didn't  know 


I  BEGIN  TO  SLIDE  DOWNHILL       89 

or  care  what  I  did  for  I  was  nearly  dead 
from  drink  and  all  else  that  went  with  the 
life  I  was  leading. 

"It  was  while  on  the  force  and  in  my 
uniform  too  that  I  escaped  being  a  mur- 
derer by  the  smallest  possible  margin.  I 
had  left  my  beat  to  get  a  drink  at  a  joint 
which  was  being  run  by  the  mistress  of  a 
man  well  up  in  city  affairs.  The  place 
was  a  favourite  hangout  for  members  of 
the  force,  officers  as  well  as  patrolmen. 
I  was  drunk  at  the  time.  An  Italian 
stood  at  the  bar.  We  had  never  seen  one 
another  before.  He  misunderstood  a 
drunken  jeer  I  made  to  a  friend  and  he 
called  me  a  name  not  even  a  low-down 
thief  would  tolerate.  Blind  with  rage  I 
picked  up  a  full  bottle  of  soda,  raised  it 
high  above  my  head  and  brought  it  down 
on  the  top  of  his  skull  with  all  my 
strength.  Again  the  politicians!  They 
sent  me  into  retirement  for  three  days 


90   THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

while  the  affair  was  hushed  up.  The  man 
didn't  die,  although  it  was  five  weeks  be- 
fore the  doctors  would  admit  that  he  could 
live.  On  the  fourth  day  I  returned  to  my 
post.  Fifty  dollars'  worth  of  cigars  and 
liquors  squared  off  my  indebtedness  to  the 
gang  who  had  covered  up  for  me! 

"Another  man  than  yourself,  one  not 
familiar  with  the  human  dregs  who  popu- 
late certain  sections  of  New  York,  would 
not  admit  that  I  could  go  any  lower  down 
the  social  scale.  But  I  was  a  long  way 
from  the  bottom  still! 

"Before  long  the  day  came  when  even 
my  friends,  the  politicians,  could  not  longer 
afford  to  cover  my  tracks — to  back  me  up 
in  the  front  office.  Shortly  thereafter  I 
was  transferred  to  a  precinct  on  Staten 
Island.  There  I  went  gambling  without 
restraint.  My  nerves  broke  completely  in 
two  for  the  first  time.  I  was  heavily  in 
debt.    My  courage  was  gone  and  I  was 


I  BEGIN  TO  SLIDE  DOWNHILL       91 

on  the  verge  of  D.  TVs ;  I  hadn't  a  cent. 
My  room  rent  was  due  and  the  landlord 
was  insisting  on  payment.  Had  I  been 
able  to  go  to  New  York  I  would  have 
stolen  or  borrowed  the  few  necessary  dol- 
lars from  my  wife. 

"As  I  left  the  station  house  that  night 
I  raised  a  twenty-five  cent  loan  and 
bought  a  vial  of  poison — for  a  dog  I  told 
the  druggist — but  in  reality  it  was  for 
something  far  worse  than  a  dog.  I  was 
through  with  it  all  and  had  decided  to  go 
the  'Dutch  route.'  I  wrote  a  couple  of 
letters,  sealed  them  and  then  locked  the 
door  to  my  room  from  the  inside.  I 
thought  I  was  a  man.  I  didn't  know  how 
big  a  coward  I  was.  I  removed  my  coat, 
vest,  trousers,  shirt  and  shoes  and  stood  in 
my  underwear  with  a  big  flask  of  whiskey 
in  one  hand  and  the  vial  of  acid  in  the 
other.  Try  as  I  would  I  couldn't  muster 
sufficient  courage  to  drink  the  stuff.    A 


92       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

dozen  times  the  vial  got  almost  to  my  lips 
but  no  further.  Not  so  the  whiskey,  how- 
ever, and  I  finally  fell  to  the  floor  in  a 
dead,  drunken  stupour.  In  the  morning 
I  threw  the  poison  down  a  sink.  That 
debauch  lasted  about  three  days  for  I 
made  a  killing  early  that  day  in  a  pool- 
room and  cashed  in  about  twenty. 

"When  I  finally  returned  to  my  station 
house  I  found  serious  charges,  which  I 
could  not  successfully  beat,  had  been  pre- 
ferred against  me.  I  removed  my  shield, 
unbuckled  my  belt  and  turned  in  my  gun 
and  stick.  I  had  beaten  a  dismissal  by 
only  a  few  days  I 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MY  LAST  PRISON  TERM 

"Back  in  New  York  again  and  without 
money,  without  pull,  without  friends.  No, 
that  was  not  so!  I  knew  there  was  one 
who  was  still  my  friend,  my  wife!  She 
had  moved  and  I  had  some  little  difficulty 
in  locating  her.  Then  I  found  that  one 
of  her  former  loyal  friends,  a  member  of 
her  old  church,  was  again  in  touch  with 
her. 

"Jane  was  glad  to  see  me — she  cried 
and  implored  me  to  stay  with  her  and  to 
behave  myself.  This,  of  course,  I  readily 
agreed  to  do  and  I  did  so  until  she  got 
together  a  few  spare  dollars  and  then  I 
left  and  took  the  money  with  me.    I  did 


94       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

not  see  her  again  until  I  was  sentenced  to 
six  years  at  hard  labour  in  Sing  Sing 
Prison  by  Judge  Cowing. 

"With  the  few  dollars  she  gave  me  I 
got  beastly  drunk.  I  met  an  old  acquaint- 
ance who  tipped  me  off  to  a  good  thing. 
I  needed  money  quickly  if  I  was  to  make 
use  of  this  information.  A  car  soon 
brought  me  to  the  home  of  my  wife's  old 
friend,  this  woman  who  was  again  be- 
friending her.  On  other  occasions  I  had 
stolen  from  her,  but  because  of  her  friend- 
ship for  Jane  she  had  refused  to  prosecute 
me.  I  entered  her  house  and  stole  an  ex- 
pensive silver  service.  I  was  caught,  tried, 
convicted,  sentenced,  and  away  I  went, 
with  my  wife  promising  me  her  continued 
love  and  support  and  begging  me  to  turn 
over  a  new  leaf.  Again  I  promised  her  I 
would. 

"I  was  an  interesting  and  strange  crea- 
ture as  with  nineteen  others  I  was  taken 


MY  LAST  PRISON  TERM  95 

over  the  New  York  Central  to  Sing  Sing 
to  serve  my  last  'bit.'  The  fact  that  I  was 
going  to  'stir'  didn't  disturb  me.  I  felt  no 
shame  or  remorse  over  that.  Nor  did  I 
regret  the  act  for  which  I  had  been  sent 
away.  My  friends  had  deserted  me,  the 
old  'pull,'  which  had  safeguarded  me  so 
many  times,  had  been  withdrawn,  and  I 
was  sore.    I  wanted  to  get  even. 

"One  by  one  the  big  events  in  my  life 
passed  in  review  before  my  eyes.  I  saw 
my  mother  and  my  father.  I  saw  the 
Judge  who  drove  me  out  of  St.  Louis  as  a 
boy.  I  saw  Jimmy  Lally  and  the  'screws' 
and  keepers  who  had  mauled  and  beaten 
me  in  all  the  different  places  where  I  had 
done  time.  And  then  I  saw  my  wife  in 
her  poverty  and  anguish  of  heart.  So  far 
as  any  effect  was  concerned  I  might  as 
well  have  been  thinking  of  the  moon  or 
the  stars.  All  emotion,  all  feeling  of 
right,   all   honour,   were   buried   in   me- 


96       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

Buried  under  years  of  dissipation  and  sin, 
buried  so  completely  that  I  was  as  vicious 
and  heartless  a  man  as  ever  lived. 

"Life  in  the  various  'stirs'  I  had  been  in 
taught  me  one  thing  well — to  obey  rules. 
Not  because  they  were  rules  or  because  it 
was  right  to  obey  rules,  but  because  the 
powers  that  made  them  had  sticks  loaded 
at  the  end  with  lead,  and  guns  and  pistols 
and  solitary  punishment  cells  and  the 
power  to  deprive  me  of  food  and  water 
and  all  I  had  was  a  pair  of  bare  fists.  And 
bare  fists  against  a  dozen  armed  'screws' 
didn't  stack  up  good.  As  a  rule  prison 
authorities  have  no  trouble  with  second, 
third  and  fourth  termers.  They're  wise! 
Their  spirit  has  been  broken.  It's  only 
the  new  fellows,  the  men  with  spirit  and 
blood,  full  of  life  and  fight,  that  cause 
trouble  in  prisons !  And  instead  of  taking 
that  spirit  and  blood  and  fight  and  turning 
it  in  the  right  direction  they  kill  it — grind 


MY  LAST  PRISON  TERM  97 

it  out  of  a  man,  crush  his  very  soul,  make 
him  detest  himself  for  being  alive  and 
make  him  hate  with  a  fury  that  would  kill 
if  it  got  the  chance.  And  then  those  men 
are  turned  loose  and  expected  to  go 
straight — expected  to  be  good ! 

"During  the  whole  of  my  stay  I  locked 
on  'The  Flats.'  That's  the  ground  floor  of 
the  cell  house.  It's  only  eighty-two  years 
old  and  it's  only  been  condemned  about 
eight  times.  For  eighty-two  years  human 
beings  have  been  thrown  into  'The  Flats' 
where  the  larger  majority,  myself  one  of 
them,  contracted  rheumatism.  Don't 
blame  the  authorities,  blame  the  cell  house. 
The  authorities  wouldn't  give  us  toilets  so 
why  should  they  give  us  rheumatism?  Be 
reasonable,  man!  The  whole  system  of 
caring  for  us  was  worse  than  disgraceful 
— it  was  barbaric.  .We  were  locked  in 
dirty,  filthy,  vermin-filled  cells  late  Satur- 
day afternoon.    We  were  kept  there  all 


98       THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

night,  all  day  Sunday,  all  Sunday  night, 
and  when  the  Monday  was  a  holiday  we 
had  a  'double  header,'  as  we  called  it,  and 
were  released  on  Tuesday  at  6  a.  m.  It's 
impossible  for  you  or  any  one  else  who 
hasn't  done  a  'stretch'  like  that  to  realise 
what  it  means.  We  came  out  with  nerves 
on  edge,  ready  to  fight  at  anything — 
ready  to  tear  a  man  to  pieces  at  the  slight- 
est provocation. 

"I  got  along  fairly  well  because  I  be- 
haved myself.  Being  an  ex-cop,  I  was 
accepted  only  by  a  choice  few  as  being  all 
O.K.  Prisoners,  as  a  class,  have  a  motto, 
'Once  a  cop,  always  a  cop.'  We  even 
made  'book'  in  the  cart  and  wagon  shop 
where  I  worked.  One  of  the  'screws'  had 
a  'runner'  who  kept  me  informed  as  to 
what  horses  had  already  won  their  races, 
and  then  we  opened  up  and  did  a  swell 
business.  I  had  been  a  stealing,  grafting 
cop — had  known  other  grafting  cops — 


MY  LAST  PRISON  TERM  99 

had  seen  politicians  get  rich  on  graft — 
knew  judges  who  were  grafters — had 
never  known  even  one  lawyer  who  wasn't 
a  grafter,  and  here  on  the  inside  were 
prison  attendants,  lots  of  them,  grafting 
on  the  inmates.  Do  you  wonder  that  con- 
victs as  a  class  doubt  society  is  on  the  level 
with  them? 

"The  public  is  pretty  well  informed  as 
to  what  Sing  Sing  was  in  those  days.  Mr. 
Osborne  has  taken  care  of  that.  I'd  seen 
lots  of  filth  and  rottenness  in  my  day  but 
I'd  seen  nothing  to  touch  what  I  found 
there.  The  cell  house  was  alive — literally 
— with  vermin.  The  stench  from  those 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  buckets  was 
awful  at  all  times,  and  in  the  heat  of  sum- 
mer was  almost  unbearable — it  made  my 
eyes  feel  like  they  were  afire.  The  food 
and  the  tin  plates  we  ate  from  were  rotten. 
You'll  wonder  perhaps  how  anything 
could  make  me  less  of  a  man  than  I  was, 


100     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

but  the  conditions  I've  mentioned  did  do 
that  as  they  did  in  the  case  of  every  man 
who  lived  under  them.  Such  a  result  was 
inevitable. 

"The  days  and  weeks  and  months 
dragged  by  and  then  a  year,  and  another 
long  year  started  in  just  the  same  way. 
We  were  rotting.  There  was  not  any- 
where near  enough  work  to  keep  us  busy 
and  so  we  rotted  in  those  3%  x  6  x  7-foot 
holes  in  that  pile  of  granite  put  there 
eighty-two  years  ago  for  men  to  suffer  in, 
that  their  evil  ways  might  be  made  good 
ways.  What  a  chance!  Finally  the  day 
drew  near  when  I  could  appear  before  the 
Parole  Board.  Mrs.  Booth,  the  'Little 
Mother'  as  she  is  affectionately  called  by 
thousands  of  'cons'  and  'excons',  came  reg- 
ularly to  the  prison.  I  attended  her  serv- 
ices simply  because  I  could  get  out  of  my 
cell  for  a  short  time.  And  then  one  day 
I  spoke  to  her  and  she  offered  to  help  me 


MY  LAST  PRISON  TERM         101 

secure  my  release  provided  I  would  do  as 
I  should  have  done  long  ago.  Like  I  had 
done  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  times  be- 
fore, I  made  a  promise  on  my  honour  to 
reform  and  serve  God  from  then  on. 

"And  so  Mrs.  Booth  secured  my  release 
after  a  stubborn  fight  before  the  Parole 
Board. 

"Was  I  thankful  and  grateful?  Yes, 
just  long  enough  to  get  clear  of  the  joint 
—that's  all.  The  'Little  Mother'  sent  me 
to  Hope  Hall  where  so  many  of  her  boys 
have  come  to  realise  what  right  means  and 
how  good  it  feels  to  be  right — where  so 
many  of  her  boys  have  found  God. 

"Like  a  low-down  cur  I  skipped  in  a 
couple  of  weeks  and  landed  down  and  out 
in  New  York,  but  this  time  in  a  new  sec- 
tion— the  Bowery. 

"Each  month,  in  my  report  to  the 
Parole  Officer,  I  lied.  It  was  easy  to  put 
it  over — what  did  they  care? 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AT  THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  BOTTOM 

"Just  as  there  is  but  one  New  York 
and  one  Paris  and  one  Venice,  so  there  is 
but  one  Bowery!  There's  no  other  street 
in  the  world  like  it  that  I  know  of.  It's 
peopled  with  the  dregs  of  humanity  from 
the  four  corners  of  the  globe — good  and 
bad  men,  but  all  of  them  down  and  out. 
Down  so  far  that  not  many  of  them  ever 
get  back.  Down  so  low  that  there's  just 
one  of  two  things  left  to  do — get  up  or  die. 

"The  cheap,  dirty  lodging  houses  are 
packed  to  the  doors  nightly  with  these 
poor  fellows,  some  of  whom  are  there 
reaping  the  harvest  of  their  own  sowing 
while  others  there  are  the  cruel  victims  of 
102 


THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  BOTTOM     103 

circumstances  over  which  they  had  little 
or  no  control. 

"The  thief,  the  'dip,'  the  'yegg;  the  'con,' 
the  black  sheep  of  the  well-to-do  family, 
the  green-goods  man,  all  of  them  are  there, 
too  old  or  broken  to  longer  carry  on  their 
shady  trades.  The  sick  men,  young  and 
old,  good  and  bad,  they  are  there  too, 
roaming  about,  eating  and  sleeping  when 
and  where  they  can,  hoping  against  hope 
that  the  next  moment  may  be  their  last. 
The  bum  is  there  too,  living  but  never 
working,  and  he's  there  in  goodly  num- 
bers. By  far  the  greatest  number  though 
are  there  because  of  their  inability  or  un- 
willingness to  desert  the  ranks  of  Old 
King  Booze.  You  can't  call  it  alcohol, 
it's  anything  but  that.  Those  fellows 
can't  get  a  'kick'  out  of  good  whiskey  and 
many  of  them  can't  get  one  out  of  'third 
rail.'    What  a  life! 

"There's  still  another  class  there  and 


104     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

Heaven  forbid  that  it  should  continue. 
It's  the  young  class  composed  of  boys  who 
have  been  unable  to  resist  the  call  to  come 
to  the  great  city,  expecting  to  find  plenty 
of  helping  hands  and  lots  of  work.  Who 
is  there,  tell  me,  to  take  these  boys  by  the 
hand?  They  wind  up,  after  the  small 
purse  is  gone,  on  the  Bowery. 

"Among  that  motley  frightful  popula- 
tion I  fitted  into  a  waiting  place.  They 
are  always  waiting  for  newcomers  down 
there  and  they  don't  have  to  wait  long 
either — that's  the  greatest  pity  of  it  all — 
they  come  faster  than  they  go.  Thus  the 
great  change  that  has  taken  place  in  the 
last  few  years  is  accounted  for.  There 
was  a  time  when  real  'bad  men'  haunted 
the  Bowery  and  there  pulled  down  their 
drag.  Not  so  to-day,  for  the  hard  men 
and  the  gangs  have  gone  east  or  west  and 
some  north,  and  left  the  old  street  ex- 


THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  BOTTOM  105 

clusively  for  the  men  nearly  through — for 
the  man  who  has  failed. 

"Failed!  Yes,  that's  it— the  Bowery 
might  well  be  called  the  Street  of  Fail- 
ures! 

"Was  I  a  failure?  I  wouldn't  have 
admitted  it  then.  I'd  soon  be  back  up 
town.  I  remember  I  figured  it  out  that 
way. 

"While  I  had  been  doing  my  'bit'  up 
the  river  I  had  worked  out  an  elaborate 
system  to  beat  the  ponies  and  had  figured 
that  with  $1,537.00  I  could  beat  the  book- 
makers to  a  crisp.  Any  one  would  think 
that  I'd  been  up  against  them  often 
enough  to  know  that  in  the  long  run  they 
always  held  the  trump  card  and  couldn't 
be  beaten.  It  takes  a  long  time  to  teach 
some  people,  doesn't  it? 

"It  seemed  as  though  it  ought  to  be 
very  easy  to  get  $1,500.00.  In  the  old 
days  I  could  have  done  it,  maybe  in  a  day, 


106     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

certainly  in  a  week.  But  on  the  Bowery- 
it  might  take  two  weeks,  I  figured.  So 
at  it  I  went.  The  pickin'  was  poor,  my 
pep  had  gone  and  the  'rot-gut'  I'd  been 
drinking  for  whiskey  had  taken  all  the 
flexibility  out  of  both  fingers  and  brain. 
*  Suckers'  were  few  and  far  between  and 
when  you  did  get  one  a  'ten  spot'  was  a 
big  haul.  I  never  really  knew  how  many 
Ingersoll  watches  there  were  until  I  saw 
the  Bowery  worked.  I  never  got  the 
fifteen  hundred  or  anything  like  it. 

"A  night  or  two  ago  as  I  walked  up 
that  old  sin-soaked  sidewalk  I  passed  a 
party  of  shimmers — men  in  evening 
clothes  attending  an  equal  number  of  ex- 
pensively dressed  women.  It  gave  me  a 
start,  for  do  you  know  the  feeling  a  party 
like  that  arouses  in  the  hearts  of  the  poor 
devils  that  invest  the  dives  down  there? 

"I'll  tell  you!  Picture  a  back  room  of 
a  saloon  carpeted  with  dirty  sawdust  two 


THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  BOTTOM  107 

inches  deep,  spotted  here  and  there  with 
filthy  spittoons  full  and  overflowing.  One 
or  two  yellow  gas  flames  vainly  trying  to 
fight  a  room  full  of  foul,  smoke-laden  air. 
Imagine  a  dozen  to  two  dozen  half-dead, 
half-fed,  half-mad,  half-clad  men  lolling 
and  lying  around  in  cheap  rickety  chairs. 
Some  are  dead  drunk,  some  are  fighting 
drunk,  while  the  remainder  would  like  to 
be  drunk  only  they  haven't  the  price. 
And  then  somehow,  by  means  of  a  never- 
failing  underground  system  of  communi- 
cation, comes  the  single  word  'Slummers,! 
"The  swells  march  in,  a  merry,  laugh- 
ing crowd,  trying  hard  to  act  as  though 
they  were  quite  accustomed  to  it  all.  They 
are  more  careful  about  ordering  drinks 
than  they  need  be.  They  are  served  the 
best  in  the  house  and  the  boss  sees  it 
reaches  them  'right.'  No  petering  a  lot 
of  drinks  like  that;  it  would  mean  too  big 
a  fuss. 


108     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"Some  one  of  the  men  pulls  out  a  bunch 
of  yellow  stuff,  settles  for  the  round,  and 
passes  the  waiter  a  good  fat  tip. 

"In  that  roll  that's  flashed  there's  often 
more  money  than  some  of  the  poor  devils 
in  the  room  have  seen  in  a  year.  Those 
not  too  drunk  to  comprehend,  grip  the 
tables  in  front  of  them  while  beads  of  per- 
spiration form  in  the  hollows  of  their 
hands.  Their  eyes  light  up  with  anger, 
resentment  and  hate.  But  no  further 
sign  is  given.  An  attempt  to  pull  any- 
thing off  on  a  bunch  like  that  would  mean 
serious  trouble  'down  town.'  It's  better 
to  wait  till  they  leave  the  joint  and  the 
men  separate  into  ones  and  twos  after 
leaving  the  women. 

"I've  felt  all  this  many  times.  I  re- 
member one  party  in  particular  headed  by 
a  fresh  young  guy  who  thought  he  knew 
it  all.  He  began  by  ordering,  in  a  loud 
voice,  a  round  for  the  house.    He  flashed 


THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  BOTTOM     109 

too  big  a  roll!  Next  morning  we  read  in 
the  papers  of  a  young  fellow  answering 
his  description,  having  been  found  uptown 
in  a  hallway  cleaned  out  completely  and 
still  in  a  stupour.  He  never  knew  who 
did  it,  nor  did  I. 

"Slumming  is  not  dangerous  business 
now,  but  it's  dirty  business  though.  If 
those  people  who  practise  it  only  knew  the 
temptations  they  stir  up  and  the  sad  and 
bitter  memories  they  quicken  in  those  poor 
fellows  they  would  keep  away  or  approach 
the  problem  in  a  more  serious  frame  of 
mind. 


CHAPTER  XV 

JUST  BEFORE  I  TURNED ! 

"I  found  a  wholly  new  kind  of  work 
on  the  Bowery — the  lowest  down  and 
dirtiest  occupation  it  is  possible  to  under- 
take. It  just  suited  me  and  the  low-tide 
condition  of  manhood  I  was  in.  A  thief 
or  a  'yegg'  couldn't  be  bought  to  do  it. 
Most  'bums'  would  turn  up  their  noses  at 
it  and  yet  it  was  good  pay.  It  was  strike 
breaking — scab  stuff — and  the  conditions 
under  which  it  was  done  and  the  way  we 
were  handled  would  sicken  a  pig.  But  it 
didn't  sicken  me.  I  liked  it!  Nobody 
with  any  sense  would  ask  a  real  man  to 
do  it — they  looked  up  fellows  like  myself, 
and  we  were  not  a  few.  It  didn't  require 
no 


JUST  BEFORE  I  TURNED!   Ill 

much  urging  to  make  me  join  the  Pinker- 
tons  and  go  out  strike  breaking.  My  first 
job  was  at  the  big  strike  in  Philadelphia. 

The  drunker  we  got  the  less  we  cared 
how  dangerous  was  the  situation  and  the 
better  our  bosses  liked  it.  So  they  gave 
us  all  the  stuff  we  wanted.  We  had  quan- 
tities of  it  in  the  car  barns  and  on  the  cars 
themselves.  Any  time  at  all,  anywhere, 
we  were  ready  to  fight  to  a  finish  with- 
out the  slightest  urging.  That  was  part 
of  the  game  and  was  what  we  were 
brought  down  to  do,  and  so  long  as  there 
was  any  strike  left  there  was  plenty  of 
booze  left. 

"After  things  had  quieted  down  suffi- 
ciently we  would  be  paid,  and  well  too, 
and  then  escorted  to  the  railroad  in  a 
bunch  and  sent  back  to  New  York.  It 
would  never  do  for  Philadelphia  to  have 
us  turned  loose  there  and  it  would  go 


112     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

badly  with  each  one  of  us  individually  if 
we  stayed. 

"I  always  got  back  from  a  trip  like  that 
with  a  good-sized  roll  and  so  long  as  it 
lasted  I  was  busy  day  and  night  drinking 
and  gambling — a  never-ending  succession. 

"McGuirk's  Suicide  Hall,  The  Alliga- 
tor, and  Nick  Solomon's,  beside  a  dozen 
others,  became  my  hangouts.  They  were 
the  hardest  and  lowest  down  dives  in  the 
city  and  I  was  probably  the  hardest  and 
lowest  down  man  in  the  city — again  like 
met  like ! 

"It  was  dangerous  business  for  a 
stranger  to  show  a  bill  in  any  one  of  those 
dumps.  I've  'rolled'  men  for  as  little  as  a 
dollar.  .When  a  man's  been  'rolled'  he's 
been  cleaned  out  of  everything  convertible 
quickly  into  booze  and  then  thrown  out  the 
side  door  into  the  gutter,  probably  to  be 
picked  up  by  a  cop  and  arrested  for  in- 
toxication. 


JUST  BEFORE  I  TURNED!   113 

"I  wonder  how  much  the  public  knows 
about  those  dives.  Very,  very  little  I  fear. 
At  the  time  of  which  I  speak  the  authori- 
ties knew  all  about  them.  After  a  big 
haul  the  thieves  would  return  to  these 
dumps  and  then  divide  up  with  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  law  who  had  been  tipped 
off  and  who  had  shut  their  eyes  and  closed 
their  mouths ! 

"I  wonder  if  you  realise  how  they  chase 
a  man's  coin?  I  wonder  if  you  know  what 
little  chance  a  man  has  of  coming  out  of 
one  of  those  places  with  so  much  as  a 
nickel  left?  After  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing they  used  to  let  us  sleep  all  night  in 
the  back  room  if  we  had  the  price  of  a 
drink  left.  And  the  stuff  came  then,  two 
hookers  to  the  nickel.  You  hadn't  a 
chance  in  the  world  of  holding  back  a  dime 
for  a  'pad/  Many  and  many  a  man  is 
forced  to  'cany  the  banner,'  that  is,  walk 
the  streets  all  night.    They  can't  hold  back 


114.     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

the  price  of  a  'pad/  or  even  a  nickel  for 
two  of  those  early  morning  drinks,  with 
the  privilege  of  sleeping  in  the  back  room. 

"When  it  wasn't  too  cold  it  was  much 
more  desirable  to  'carry  the  banner'  than 
to  sleep  on  a  'pad'  in  those  rotten,  foul- 
smelling  ten-cent  lodging  houses  which 
line  the  Bowery  for  blocks.  They  are 
breeding  places  of  crime,  vermin  and  dis- 
ease. They  are  everything  they  should 
not  be  and  not  one  single  thing  they 
should  be. 

"There's  big  money  in  it — the  way 
those  houses  are  run.  Why  doesn't  some 
wealthy  man  or  group  of  men  equip  a  ten- 
cent  lodging  house  with  room  say  for  five 
hundred  men?  Keep  it  clean  and  restrict 
it  rigidly  to  men  not  drunk.  Provide 
showers  with  hot  and  cold  water.  I'd 
guarantee  to  keep  it  full  all  the  time  with 
honest,  sober,  deserving  men,  men  who 
would  make  good  if  they  could  find  a  place 


JUST  BEFORE  I  TURNED!   115 

where  they  could  sleep  clean,  and  where 
they  would  be  out  of  drink's  temptation. 
I  know  of  many  cases  where  men  who  are 
'off  the  stuff'  and  putting  up  a  good  fight 
have  been  awakened  by  some  one  in  a 
nearby  bunk  inviting  them  to  have  a  drink 
from  an  outstretched  bottle.  What  chance 
has  a  fellow  of  quitting  the  stuff  when 
he  is  reduced  to  living  in  joints  of  that 
calibre? 

"The  right  kind  of  a  house  could  be  run 
for  ten  cents  per  'pad'  and  no  one  would 
lose  a  penny — they  might  even  make  a 
little!  There  certainly  must  be  men,  ten 
of  them,  who  would  be  willing  to  form  a 
company  and  subscribe,  say  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  each,  for  a  purpose  like 
that!  It's  the  biggest  need  the  Bowery 
has  to  back  up  and  make  more  effective 
the  rescue  work  now  going  on  there. 

"Where  are  these  men?  Who  are  they? 
Tell  me! 


116     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"How  many  of  your  friends  or  the  gen- 
eral public  realise  that  there  are  fully 
thirty  thousand  men  in  New  York  City 
who,  though  honest  and  willing  to  work, 
can't  earn  more  than  seventy-five  cents  a 
day?  Most  of  these  men  are  down  town 
and  the  problem  they  present  is  a  difficult 
one  to  solve. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  WHICH  I  FIEST  VISIT  THE  BOWERY 
MISSION 

"After  one  of  these  strike-breaking 
jobs  which  had  netted  me  a  considerable 
sum  of  money,  I  returned  to  New  York 
and  began  to  spend  it.  It  proved  to  be 
my  most  fearful  debauch.  It  lasted  for 
many  days  during  all  of  which  time  I  was 
a  'good  fellow.'  If  you've  got  a  dollar  to 
spend  you're  a  good  fellow  down  there 
but  when  you've  got  a  'roll  to  blow'  you 
meet  scores  of  'friends'  you've  never  seen 
before.  They  come  and  go  with  the  'roll' 
like  wolves  with  the  stray  sheep.  I  came 
to  my  senses  finally,  alone  and  penniless, 
in  a  back  alley-way.    I  had  a  hazy  feeling 

117 


118     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

that  I  hadn't  spent  or  gambled  all  the 
money  I'd  started  in  with  the  night  before. 
I  was  sick,  too,  which  added  to  my  suspi- 
cions that  my  'roll'  had  been  'lifted.'  Some 
one  had  reached  me! 

"A  man  in  the  condition  I  was  in  that 
morning  needs,  if  ever  he  needs  it,  a  good 
stiff  drink.  It  quiets  him  and  if  he  can't 
get  it  he  is  liable  to  go  clean  crazy.  Men 
like  that  are  given  a  drink  and  at  longer 
and  longer  intervals  other  drinks.  Other- 
wise they  would  injure  themselves  or 
others.  Somebody  gave  me  a  'hooker.'  It 
pulled  me  together  a  bit.  And  then  a 
bartender  where  I  had  dropped  a  'bunch' 
a  few  nights  earlier  gave  me  another. 

"Suddenly  I  thought  of  my  wife  and 
then  I  remembered  that  I  hadn't  paid  her 
a  visit  in  a  long  time.  Probably  she  had 
a  few  dollars  saved.  I  needed  money 
badly.  What  was  my  wife  for,  if  not  to 
take  care  of  me?     So  I  looked  her  up. 


I  VISIT  THE  BOWERY  MISSION     119 

She  was  in  desperate  straits.  Ill  from 
worry  and  lack  of  proper  food  and  days 
and  days  of  fruitless  searching  for  work 
— for  any  sort  of  work  that  would  bring 
the  price  of  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  bottle  of 
milk. 

"Did  my  heart  melt?  Did  I  get  down 
on  my  knees  and  ask  forgiveness? 

"In  a  moment  of  madness,  after  learn- 
ing that  she  had  no  money  to  give  me,  I 
left  her  without  so  much  as  a  good-bye! 

"How  I  got  back  to  the  Bowery  I  don't 
know.  I  was  blind  with  rage  and  the 
effects  of  booze — sore  clear  through  with 
anger  and  hate.  I  hated  myself.  I  hated 
my  wife.  I  hated  the  world.  I  must  have 
money!  I  must  have  money!  This  kept 
ringing  in  my  ears! 

"And  then  I  lay  down  and  slept.  It 
was  a  long  time  before  I  awoke  and  when 
I  did  I  found  myself  in  an  empty  wagon 
in  an  alley. 


120     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"I  was  sober  now — sober  but  sick.  Not 
too  sick,  however,  to  begin  new  plans  for 
money — money  for  drink,  money  for  gam- 
bling. If  I  could  pick  one  winner  I  could 
get  a  start  and  with  a  start,  even  if  it  was 
only  a  small  one,  I  could  beat  the  book- 
makers. I  knew  it!  I  was  surer  of  it 
then  than  ever  before. 

"I  thought  and  planned  with  wits  born 
of  desperation,  for  somehow  or  other  I  felt 
this  was  pretty  near  my  last  fling.  But  I 
couldn't  arrive  anywhere.  I  couldn't  see 
a  start.  I  thought  and  thought  but  only 
in  circles!  I  couldn't  do  anything  alone. 
Alone?  Why  need  I  try  alone?  Hadn't 
I  a  wife?  What  was  a  wife  for  if  not  to 
help  me  and  care  for  me?  Hadn't  she 
always  done  it?  Wouldn't  she  continue 
to  do  it?  I  knew  her  well  enough  to  know 
she  would! 

"I  don't  know  what  put  the  idea  of 
writing  to  her  in  my  mind.    But  that's 


I  VISIT  THE  BOWERY  MISSION     121 

what  I  decided  to  do.  I  hadn't  done  it, 
mind  you,  in  years.  I  had  no  writing  ma- 
terials nor  a  stamp.  It  was  early  in  the 
morning  and  I  could  borrow  what  I 
needed,  maybe,  from  a  bartender,  so  off  I 
went.  On  the  way  I  met  an  acquaintance 
and  told  him  what  I  wanted.  He  couldn't 
help  me  himself  but  he  told  me  that  if  I 
would  go  up  to  the  Bowery  Mission,  up 
near  Rivington  Street,  and  tell  them  I 
wanted  to  write  to  my  wife — that  I 
wanted  to  go  home  and  be  good  to  her 
again — they  would  give  me  the  materials 
and  a  place  at  which  to  write. 

"I  turned  in  my  tracks  and  headed  for 
the  Bowery  Mission. 

"I  want  you  to  get  clearly  in  mind  the 
mental  state  I  was  in  and  the  purpose  of 
my  errand.  I  was  on  my  way  again  to 
make  my  poor  wife  'produce.'  Remem- 
ber my  physical  condition — it  had  been 
wrecked  by  booze  and  wrong  living.     I 


122     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

was  a  scoffer  and  a  jeerer  at  everything 
that  savoured  of  religion.  I  didn't  be- 
lieve there  was  a  square  man  in  the  world. 
I  would  have  thought  no  more  of  killing  a 
man  than  of  laughing  at  one.  In  reform 
schools  and  prisons  I  had  been  told  of 
brotherly  love  one  hour  a  week  by  a  paid 
chaplain,  while  I  was  being  beaten  on  my 
bare  back,  strung  up  by  my  thumbs,  or 
confined  in  a  dark,  damp  dungeon  during 
the  rest  of  the  week  by  other  paid  state 
officials.  Why  should  I  have  believed  that 
this  one  state  employe — the  chaplain — 
should  be  on  the  level  any  more  than  the 
others? 

"To  me  a  man  with  religion  was  a  'bug,' 
a  'nut,'  or  a  'molly  coddle.'  I  could  stand 
for  anything  but  that !  But  if  I  could  get 
what  I  wanted  at  this  Mission  I'd  be  a 
fool  not  to  go. 

"I  stood  outside  looking  at  the  joint 
and  laughing  to  myself.     A  bunch  of 


I  VISIT  THE  BOWERY  MISSION     123 

suckers,  I  called  them.  They  were  Mis- 
sion Stiffs,  I  thought.  Somebody  was 
putting  up  the  dough — some  cracked  old 
nut — and  those  fellows  down  here  were 
getting  away  with  it  good  and  soft.  I'd 
put  one  over  on  them. 

"I  went  upstairs  along  with  other  men. 
It  wae  very  clean,  much  cleaner  than  any- 
thing I'd  seen  in  a  long  time.  At  the  top 
of  the  stairs  was  a  large  room  with  a  lot 
of  poor  fellows  sitting  around.  A  young 
lad  came  out  of  an  office  and  said: 

"  'Good  morning,  what  can  I  do  for 
you?'  I  told  him,  and  he  pointed  to  a 
chair  which  he  told  me  to  take  and  he'd 
talk  with  me  in  a  few  minutes.  Things 
were  going  all  right  I  thought.  I  hadn't 
met  as  easy  a  bunch  to  work  in  a  long  time. 
It  was  like  taking  candy  from  a  child. 
The  warmth  of  the  coal  stove  felt  good 
too.    It  was  a  cinch ! 

"But  the  young  fellow  who  was  coming 


1M     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

right  back  didn't  come  and  I  began  to  get 
leery  and  then  I  got  sore !  I  was  about  to 
start  something  to  show  them  I  was  wise 
when  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"They'd  pulled  a  trick  on  me!  I  was 
pinched.  I  knew  all  the  time  these  fellows 
with  religion  were  crooked!  I  wanted  to 
make  a  break  and  beat  it  when  I  heard  a 
voice  behind  me,  a  soft,  kindly  voice : 

"  'Do  you  want  a  job?' 

"I  looked  up  and  there  stood  a  little  old 
fellow  with  ruddy  cheeks,  dressed  in  a  neat 
business  suit,  and  I  knew  he  must  be  one 
of  those  in  authority. 

"I  looked  about  the  room  again.  There 
were  certainly  twenty  other  men  there  do- 
ing as  I  was  doing — waiting.  .Why  had  I 
been  asked  that  question  ahead  of  all  the 
others?  What  was  this  fellow  trying  to 
hand  me — something  'queer'?  I  didn't 
owe  him  anything — why  should  he  want 
to  do  anything  for  me?    He'd  never  seen 


I  VISIT  THE  BOWERY  MISSION     125 

me  before  and  after  I'd  gotten  what  I 
came  for  he'd  never  see  me  again.  I  could 
have  promised  him  that.  What  did  he 
think  I  was?  I  looked  at  him  again  and 
he  smiled  as  he  repeated  the  question. 
"  'Do  you  want  a  day's  work?' 
"Before  I  realised  what  I  was  doing  I'd 
said  'Yes.'  It  slipped  out  before  I  knew 
it.  I  didn't  even  say  'Sir'  or  'Thank  you.' 
Work!  What  did  I  want  with  work? 
How  much  honest  work  had  I  ever  done? 
And  then  an  idea  flashed  across  my  mind. 
I'd  look  the  ground  over;  maybe  I'd  find 
a  chance  to  get  next  to  something.  Maybe 
this  job  might  help  me  to  the  coin  I  was 
after. 

"They  asked  me  my  name  and  a  few 
other  questions  and  entered  the  informa- 
tion in  a  book  of  register.  A  card  was 
given  me  introducing  me  to  the  firm  to 
whom  I  was  being  sent,  together  with  five 
cents  for  carfare. 


126    THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"I  was  on  my  way  to  work!  I  went 
down  stairs  in  a  stupor.  I  remember  how 
I  laughed  at  myself  for  having  been  in  a 
Mission  and  how  I  had  fooled  them.  I've 
seen  lots  of  other  men  since  who  thought 
they'd  fooled  the  Mission  when  in  reality 
they  were  the  ones  who  were  fooled,  only 
they  didn't  know  it  at  the  time  any  more 
than  I  did. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HARD  MANUAL  LABOUR — A  NEW 
SENSATION 

"The  address  on  the  card  read  Seventh 
Avenue  near  Seventeenth  Street.  They 
had  wanted  help  of  a  temporary  sort,  to 
carry  lumber,  and  so  they  had  telephoned 
the  Free  Labour  Bureau  of  the  Bowery 
Mission.  And  because  I  was  a  big-framed 
and  strong-looking  man,  Charley  Thomp- 
son ( I  learned  his  name  on  my  way  down 
stairs)  had  asked  me  if  I  wanted  work. 

"Here  I  was  at  the  place  and  here  was 
the  lumber — a  big  pile  of  it.  It  was  noon- 
time and  it  certainly  didn't  look  like  the 
picking  was  going  to  be  good  for  only 
labouring  men  were  to  be  seen.     Surely 

127 


128     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

carrying  that  lumber  all  day  was  going  to 
be  no  picnic.  I  was  looking  for  something 
soft.  All  this  makes  it  very  difficult  for 
me  to  understand  why  I  took  off  my  coat 
and  with  rolled-up  sleeves  went  to  work. 
It  proved  even  harder  than  I  thought  it 
would  but  I  kept  on  and  was  glad  when 
the  whistle  blew  at  quitting  time.  The 
nickel  for  carfare  I'd  saved,  for  I  knew  it 
would  buy  me  two  early  morning  drinks 
and  get  me  a  place  of  shelter.  That  morn- 
ing before  I'd  left  the  Mission  I'd  prom- 
ised Charley  Thompson  that  I'd  come  in 
to  the  service  that  night.  I  kept  thinking 
about  it  all  day.  I'd  made  that  promise 
like  I'd  made  hundreds  of  similar  ones 
to  my  wife — with  not  the  slightest  idea  of 
ever  making  good.  Every  promise  I'd 
ever  made  her  I'd  forgotten  at  once.  But 
I  kept  thinking  all  day  of  my  promise  to 
that  Mission  Stiff! 

"You  know  I  was  about  as  wise  as  they 


A  NEW  SENSATION  129 

came,  or  I  thought  I  was.  Nobody  could 
ever  teach  me  anything.  I  had  to  be 
shown  and  that  about  a  dozen  times.  I 
was  'from  Missouri'  if  ever  a  man  was. 
I  was  suspicious  of  everything  and  every- 
body. A  thing  I  couldn't  understand  was 
'phoney'  and  a  good  thing  to  keep  away 
from.  I  loathed  everything  churchy  and 
all  connected  therewith  were  crooked.  I 
tell  you  all  this  in  repetition  because  you 
meet  so  many  'cons.'  I  wish  every  con- 
vict in  the  country  could  know  my  story. 
I  believe  it  would  make  their  'come  back 
path'  look  brighter  and  easier  to  travel. 

"When  I  quit  work  at  5:15  I  was 
almost  done  up.  My  back  ached  and  my 
arms  ached.  Ached  like  they'd  never 
ached  before.  I  was  hungry  as  a  bear.  I 
could  hardly  wait  to  reach  a  meal.  Sev- 
enty-five cents  they  had  paid  me  and  they 
told  me  that  I  could  have  another  day's 
work  if  I  wanted  it.    Yes,  I  wanted  it,  and 


130     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

told  them  I'd  show  up.  Work  started  at 
seven-thirty.  I  laughed  at  myself  when  I 
thought  of  it.  Me  at  work  at  7 :30  carry- 
ing lumber. 

"A  heavy  meal  for  fifteen  cents  made 
me  feel  a  lot  better.  When  before  had  I 
gone  practically  a  whole  day  without  a 
drink?  It  seemed  like  a  year  when  I 
thought  of  it.  My  throat  was  cracking 
open  for  one.  The  price  was  in  my  pocket. 
It  was  there  before  my  dinner  and  yet  I'd 
gone  by  three  saloons  before  I  reached  the 
restaurant.  How  do  you  account  for  it? 
I  hadn't  done  a  thing  like  that  in  years. 

"On  my  way  from  dinner  to  the  Bowery 
were  at  least  fifty  saloons.  I  entered  only 
one  and  ordered  and  drank  only  two  slugs 
— whiskeys.  Mind  you,  I  wasn't  trying 
to  quit  the  stuff,  yet  the  fact  remains  that 
I  only  had  two  drinks.  The  previous 
night  I'd  'a'  stayed  till  the  eighty  cents 


A  NEW  SENSATION  131 

was  gone.     Then,  however,  I  spent  just 
ten  cents. 

"Tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  took  me  to 
the  service  at  the  Mission  that  night? 
What  made  me  keep  my  promise  to 
Charley  Thompson?  I'd  made  my  wife  a 
thousand  promises  which  were  no  sooner 
made  than  forgotten.  Why  did  I  keep 
my  first  promise  to  a  stranger?  At  any 
rate,  when  the  doors  opened  at  seven, 
there  I  was,  well  up  in  the  line.  It  was 
just  the  time  when  usually  I  was  getting 
'tanked  up'  down  the  street.  I  thought 
of  that  but  decided  to  stay  and  see  what 
kind  of  a  show  they  ran.  And  it  was  some 
show,  believe  me !  I  don't  remember  ever 
being  so  interested  and  amused  in  my  life. 
But  I  simply  couldn't  understand  it.  I 
thought  the  men  were  plum  crazy  as  one 
after  another  they  stood  up  and  gave  their 
testimony.  One  had  been  a  thief,  he  said, 
and  later  a  down-and-out,  but  had  lost  all 


132     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

of  it  since  he'd  given  his  heart  to  God.  I 
thought  some  one  had  tipped  him  off 
about  me  and  he  was  taking  a  chance  on 
ringing  me  in  as  one  of  that  bunch  of  old 
women!  I  was  sure  every  man  who  spoke 
was  paid  for  doing  it.  Surely  no  man  in 
his  right  senses  would  get  up  and  do  it 
for  nothing.  They  all,  every  one  of  them, 
talked  about  the  same  thing — Brotherly 
Love !  Brotherly  Love  be  hanged !  How 
far  would  that  stuff  take  me?  What  did 
I  want  with  love?  Love  was  meant  for 
women — not  men.  Whiskey  was  good 
enough  for  me! 

"At  any  rate  I  stuck  the  meeting  out 
although  I  was  disgusted  long  before  it 
was  over.  Along  with  all  the  rest,  some 
three  hundred,  I  filed  down  stairs  where 
we  all  got  a  hand-out — coffee  and  a  big 
fresh  roll.  Again  and  again  I  asked  my- 
self what  it  all  meant.  It  cost  money — 
300  rolls  and  300  cups  of  coffee,  365  times 


A  NEW  SENSATION  133 

a  year.  I  spoke  to  a  lad  near  me  about  it, 
and  he  said  that  from  Thanksgiving  to 
Easter,  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the 
Mission  ran  a  bread  line  where  they  fed 
upwards  of  a  thousand  men.  That  cost  a 
lot  more!  And  then  I  remembered  the 
Labour  Bureau  away  up  stairs.  That  cost 
more  money!  They  didn't  charge  me  a 
cent  for  the  job  they  got  for  me.  You 
know  I  didn't  know  anything  about  the 
Settlement  in  the  Bronx  or  the  Mother 
Bird  Memorial  Farm  up  in  the  Croton 
Lake  watershed. 

"As  I  went  up  out  of  the  breakfast  room 
to  the  street  I  decided  I'd  come  in  again 
the  next  night  and  see  the  show  all  over 
again.  I  told  Thompson  I  would.  They 
certainly  were  a  soft-shelled  bunch.  I 
ought  to  be  able  to  make  it  worth  my 
while. 

"Sleep  came  quickly  when  I  got  to  bed. 
The  day's  work  had  exhausted  me.     I 


134     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

went  straight  to  my  'pad'  without  a  drink. 
I  felt  no  wish  for  a  drink  or  I  would  have 
had  one,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  It  was 
probably  due  to  the  fact  that  I'd  been 
drinking  very  heavily  the  previous  few 
days  and  after  a  hard  drink  a  fellow's 
system  sometimes  rebels  at  booze.  But  if 
that's  what  kept  me  going  that  day  and 
night  with  only  two  drinks  it  was  the  first 
time  it  had  ever  happened. 

"I  don't  say  what  did  it.  I'm  simply 
telling  you  facts. 

''The  following  day,  my  second  at  the 
lumber  pile,  was  twice  as  long  as  the  first, 
twice  as  hard,  and  twice  as  profitable — 
profitable  to  the  tune  of  $1.50.  And  most 
of  the  previous  day's  pay  remained  in  my 
pocket.  Not  a  drink  all  day!  Not  one 
desire  to  steal!  Another  new  sensation, 
that  I  thought  about  a  lot  and  couldn't 
understand.  All  day  I  asked  myself  if 
I'd  go  to  the  Mission  that  night.     Al- 


A  NEW  SENSATION  135 

though  I'd  promised  Thompson  I  would, 
about  quitting  time  I  decided  not  to.  An- 
other fifteen-cent  meal  and  a  good  stiff 
hooker  of  whiskey  and  I  felt  good.  I 
wanted  it  and  I  bought  it.  I  wanted  an- 
other and  I  bought  that  too.  If  I'd  wanted 
more,  like  I  had  for  years,  I'd  'a'  bought 
them  too.  But  I  didn't.  Two  whole  days 
and  not  a  drink, — two  nights  and  two 
drinks  each.  I  was  getting  too  good.  I 
remember  it  made  me  feel  like  an  old  wom- 
an.   I  laughed  at  myself. 

"But  it  made  me  think.  And  the  more 
I  thought  the  more  puzzled  I  became.  As 
I  walked  downtown  I  lost  myself  com- 
pletely, so  wrapped  up  was  I  in  my  own 
thoughts.  After  a  while  I  woke  up.  I 
had  stopped  in  my  tracks  and  was  directly 
in  front  of  the  wide-open  doors  of  the 
Boweiy  Mission,  the  place  where  I  didn't 
want  to  go.  Curiosity  got  the  better  of  me 
again.    I'd  go  in  and  see  the  show.    It  was 


136     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

the  middle  of  October,  chilly,  and  I  had 
no  coat.  Inside  the  Mission  it  was  warm 
and  there  would  be  hot  coffee  and  rolls. 
In  I  went ! 

"But  I  was  wise  and  by  the  time  the 
service  was  over  I'd  doped  the  whole  thing 
out.  Those  men  were  bluffers.  There 
was  no  other  answer.  Certainly  no  sane 
man  would  get  up  in  a  crowded  public 
place  and  tell  the  bunch  how  many  jobs 
he'd  pulled  off  and  how  religion  had  saved 
him.  That  wasn't  in  the  cards — they  were 
fakers !  I  knew  human  nature  and  I  knew 
that  kind  of  stuff  didn't  go  along  with  it. 
All  this  was  side-show  stuff.  And  I  knew 
it  paid  well  too.  Oh!  I  knew  it  all  in 
those  days. 

"There  was  another  day's  work  for  me 
at  the  lumber  pile.  I  was  tired.  I  needed 
the  next  day's  pay,  and  if  I  wasn't  on  the 
job  early  and  able  to  work  with  the  rest 
of  the  crew  I'd  lose  out.    So  another  night 


A  NEW  SENSATION  137 

I  went  to  bed  sober,  this  time  without 
even  one  drink. 

"Charley  Thompson  had  told  me  to  be 
sure  and  be  on  hand  the  next  night  for  the 
Superintendent  of  the  Mission,  Dr.  Halli- 
mond,  would  be  there  and  he  wanted  me  to 
meet  him.  I  said  I  would  come  and  this 
time  I  meant  it  good  and  proper.  If  there 
was  any  easy  money  to  be  had  out  of  the 
joint  the  man  to  get  it  from  was  the  Boss. 
I'd  make  Dr.  Hallimond  fall  for  me  all 
right. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

I  JOIN   THE  BROTHERHOOD  AND  MEET  DR. 
HALLIMOND 

"I  was  dead  set  on  meeting  that  Super- 
intendent and  I  figured  the  best  and  easi- 
est way  to  do  it  was  to  take  a  card  and  join 
the  Brotherhood.  After  a  fellow  does  that 
he  meets  the  whole  bunch  and  gets  a 
chance  to  mix  it  up  with  them  a  bit.  And 
so  I  decided  to  take  a  card  that  night. 

"At  the  end  of  the  meeting  a  couple  of 
fellows  came  down  the  aisle,  just  like  we 
do  now,  handing  out  the  blank  member- 
ship cards  to  all  who  would  take  one.  I 
waswondering  how  manyof  the  down-and- 
outs  in  the  nearby  seats  would  see  me  and 
laugh  at  me.    I  lost  my  nerve  completely 

138 


I  MEET  DR.  HALLIMOND        139 

when  the  man  reached  me,  and  made  no 
effort  to  get  a  card.  But  he  stopped 
squarely  at  my  side,  stuck  a  card  in  my 
hands  and  said: 

"  'Take  it  any  way!  It  can't  do  you 
any  harm.'  I  grabbed  it  eagerly.  Here 
at  last  was  a  direct  way  to  reach  a  man 
who  had  money  to  hand  out  to  the  likes  of 
me  and  I  was  the  boy  to  get  it.  But  I  got 
fooled  that  night  good  and  proper!  Like 
now,  they  made  you  hold  the  card  over 
night,  ponder  over  it,  and  turn  it  in  the 
second  night.  That  meant  I'd  have  to 
come  in  again.  All  right,  the  game  was 
worth  it. 

"I  was  wise  enough  to  know  that  it 
wouldn't  do  to  have  a  'stew'  on  or  a  'hang- 
over' on  when  I  met  Dr.  Hallimond,  and 
as  I  was  tired  out  I  again  went  straight  to 
bed,  the  third  consecutive  night,  dead 
sober.  I  had  almost  three  dollars  in  my 
pocket  too. 


140     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"For  a  long  time  I  lay  awake — think- 
ing, and  if  you  guessed  till  doomsday  you 
wouldn't  hit  on  what  I  was  thinking  about 
— that  third  night  at  the  Mission.  There 
had  been  a  man  on  the  platform  who  told 
us  all  what  a  raw  run  for  her  money  he'd 
given  his  wife!  He  told  us  how  he  had 
mistreated  her,  and  dishonoured  her.  But 
say,  he  was  a  piker  alongside  of  me  and 
the  deal  I'd  given  my  wife.  I  couldn't 
help  comparing  the  two  of  us  as  he  spoke. 
And  then  he  told  us  that  it  all  had  changed 
since  he  had  come  to  the  Mission !  He  told 
us  that  Love  had  done  it.  He  told  us  how 
faithful  his  wife  had  been  to  him  all  the 
time  he  had  been  unfaithful  to  her.  He 
talked  like  that  for  half  an  hour. 

"For  a  long  time  I  lay  awake,  as  I  say, 
thinking  of  that  man  and  his  story.  I 
knew  his  wife  couldn't  have  been  treated 
worse  than  mine  had  been  or  for  a 
longer  time,  and  I  knew  too  that  she 


I  MEET  DR.  HALLIMOND        141 

hadn't  or  couldn't  have  been  more  loyal 
than  Jane  had  been. 

"Suddenly  something  happened  in  my 
head.  Then  and  there,  in  that  dirty,  filthy 
bed  on  the  Bowery,  I  felt  for  the  first  time 
a  feeling  of  remorse  and  shame.  That's 
the  truth.  It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life 
that  I'd  ever  regretted  anything  I'd  ever 
done. 

"That  man  and  his  wife  and  his  story 
kept  ringing  in  my  ears  and  flashing  be- 
fore my  eyes !  At  last  the  crust  of  sin  or 
rust  or  mildew,  or  whatever  it  was  in  which 
my  conscience  had  been  buried  for  years 
and  years,  was  pricked.  A  tiny,  tiny  bit 
of  light  got  in.    And  I  cried. 

"Sleep  of  a  fitful  sort  at  last  overtook 
me  but  not  before  I'd  realised  that  per- 
haps during  all  those  years  of  her  faithful- 
ness I  had  unconsciously  allowed  to  grow 
up  within  me  something  akin  to  love  for 
that  brave  little  woman.     And  now  that 


142     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

something  was  trying  to  dig  its  way  out, 
to  find  expression.  And  then,  just  as 
sleep  was  carrying  me  off,  I  made  up  my 
mind  by  all  that  was  good  and  holy  to  do 
better  by  her  and  to  start  next  day. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OUT  OF  WORK 

"I  finished  that  pile  of  lumber  the  fol- 
lowing day — there  was  to  be  no  more  work 
at  the  factory.  Why  didn't  it  last  and  last 
and  last  forever?  Why  did  that  break 
come  just  then?  Why  was  I  put  to  the 
test  so  soon?  Why  couldn't  it  have  come 
later  when  I  was  more  nearly  on  my  feet? 

"Not  a  drink  all  day  nor  one  at  supper! 
I  took  a  seat  at  the  Mission,  as  far  up 
front  as  I  could  get,  and  I  held  my  card, 
already  signed,  in  my  hand. 

"A  fellow  sitting  beside  me  told  me  to 
turn  it  in  because  it  was  good  for  a  bed 
that  night.  I  nodded  to  him  to  let  him 
know  I  was  wise,  but  I  didn't  speak.    I 

143 


144     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

was  thinking  of  Jane  and  the  great  wrong 
I  had  done  her.  The  words  of  the  man 
who  had  spoken  of  his  wife  the  night  be- 
fore kept  ringing  through  my  head. 

"The  meeting  was  over.  Charley 
Balevre  stepped  up  and  greeted  me 
kindly.  Shook  hands  with  me  just  like  he 
meant  it.  As  we  walked  upstairs  to  the 
Brotherhood  Room  he  talked  to  me  in  a 
kindly,  interested  way  about  my  work, 
and  all  the  time  he  had  hold  of  my  arm. 
It  was  a  little  thing  to  do  but  it  made  a 
deep  impression  on  me  and  so  long  as  I 
live  I'll  never  forget  it.  You  see,  even 
though  I  didn't  know  it,  something  was 
going  on  within  me,  something  good  was 
going  on.  The  tiny  little  bit  of  light  of 
the  night  before  was  holding  its  own — was 
still  aglow. 

"The  room  upstairs  held  a  couple  of 
dozen  fellows  seated  here  and  there  in  a 
free  and  easy  manner.    Their  ease  was  at 


OUT  OF  WORK  145 

once  apparent  to  me.  They  were  listen- 
ing to  a  big,  broad-shouldered,  hearty- 
faced  Englishman.  It  was  Dr.  Halli- 
mond,  the  man  I  wanted  to  meet  and  beat. 
He  had  the  kindliest  and  most  sympa- 
thetic look  I'd  ever  seen.  At  once  I  felt 
here  was  a  man  who  was  different!  He 
came  right  over  to  me  ( I  was  a  newcomer) 
and  shook  my  hand  in  a  hearty,  genuine 
way  that  made  my  blood  tingle.  He  said 
he  was  glad  to  see  me.  And  he  was! 
He's  always  glad  to  meet  any  one  in 
need.  He's  been  glad  for  thirty-five 
years,  doing  that  same  thing  all  the  time! 
"Then  Charley  Balevre  gave  me  my 
card  of  membership  in  the  Brotherhood 
and  he  gave  me  also  a  pocket  edition  of 
the  New  Testament.  It  was  with  a 
sneaky,  low-down  feeling  that  I  put  it  in 
my  pocket.  I  didn't  open  it  for  fear  I'd 
expose  my  ignorance  of  it  and  my  con- 
tempt for  it.    Pretty  soon  we  had  a  quiet 


146     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

off-to-one-side  chat.  Dr.  Hallimond 
asked  me  a  great  many  questions  about 
myself  and  what  I  was  doing  and  had  been 
doing.  He  didn't  ask  me  one  embarrass- 
ing question.  He  branched  off  when  he 
found  he  was  on  that  track.  He  didn't 
scold  me  or  lecture  me,  despite  the  fact 
that  I  told  him  some  pretty  straight  stuff. 

"All  the  time  he  was  talking  to  me  I 
kept  thinking  of  my  purpose  in  meeting 
him,  and  the  more  I  thought  of  it  the  more 
I  thought  what  a  good  fellow  he  was! 
Try  as  I  would  though,  I  couldn't  under- 
stand him  or  why  he  treated  me  as  he  did, 
and  no  doubt  all  the  others  who  came  to 
him.  As  he  rose  to  indicate  to  me  that  he 
had  other  things  to  do  he  put  his  hand  on 
my  shoulder  and  asked  me  if  there  was 
anything  he  could  do  for  me. 

"Here  then  was  what  I  was  looking  for 
— an  opportunity  to  get  next — to  do  him 
— to  put  one  over  on  him.    The  chance  had 


OUT  OF  WORK  147 

come  without  the  least  effort  on  my  part. 
He  had  broached  the  subject  of  his  own 
accord.  And  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  was 
a  story  waiting  for  him.  The  same  kind 
of  a  story  that  had  made  many,  many 
people  come  across  whenever  I'd  sprung 
it.    It  was  to  be  an  easy  victory. 

"But  the  story  remained  on  the  tip  of 
my  tongue.  It's  there  now!  It's  never 
been  told!  It's  dead  there!  It  died  that 
night  as  I  looked  him  in  the  face  and  re- 
plied that  there  was  nothing  I  wanted  of 
him. 

"For  the  life  of  me  I  couldn't  hand  him 
the  stuff — he  was  too  kind — too  good  a 
fellow.  I  recognised  it  as  kindness.  It  all 
dawned  on  me  in  a  heap  at  that  moment. 
For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  felt  I'd  met 
up  with  an  honest  man — a  man  who  was 
exactly  what  he  professed  to  be. 

"I  went  to  bed  that  night  without  a 
drink,  nor  did  I  have  the  least  desire  for 


148     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

it.  Not  a  drink  all  day,  not  one  at  night. 
I  awoke  early  in  the  morning  feeling 
strong  and  well  and  eager  for  work — for 
honest  work  of  which  there  was  none  I 
could  go  to.  Eager  for  work — me — the 
man  I  had  been.  That  sounds  strange  I 
guess,  but  it's  the  truth.  The  factoiy  was 
closed  to  me.  The  pile  of  lumber  had 
gone.  I'd  carried  it  away.  I'd  been 
working  four  days  and  hadn't  been  drunk. 
In  my  pocket  were  a  few  hard  and  hon- 
estly earned  dollars.  In  my  heart  was  the 
first  good  thought  that  had  ever  been 
there.  My  wife's  face  with  those  drawn, 
pinched  lines  of  hardship  and  sorrow  ap- 
peared and  reappeared  to  me  all  morning 
as  I  searched  unsuccessfully  up  and  down, 
here  and  there,  for  work.  My  new  found 
hope  and  courage  held  all  day  but  it  was  a 
fight.  I  didn't  eat  all  day.  With  no  work 
in  sight  there  wasn't  enough  coin  to  spare 
for  food.     I  was  dreadfully  tired  from 


OUT  OF  WORK  149 

walking  and  my  strength  hadn't  been 
helped  any  by  fasting.  The  seats  in  the 
Mission,  hard  as  they  were,  rested  me,  and 
the  service,  to  a  certain  extent,  had  given 
me  new  courage.  The  only  food  I  ate  in 
those  twenty-four  hours  was  the  Mission 
roll  and  cup  of  coffee  at  ten  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN   WHICH  I   FALL 

"The  next  day  and  the  next  and  the 
next  brought  me  no  work.  Everywhere 
I  went  I  was  turned  down  cold.  I  didn't 
know  how  to  apply  for  a  job.  Allowing 
for  bed  money  and  one  meal  a  day  my 
funds  were  good  only  for  two  days  more. 

"I  kept  out  of  my  old  haunts.  I  knew 
the  necessity  of  that.  Consequently  I  was 
very  much  surprised  on  meeting  one  of 
my  former  pals  way  off  his  usual  beat — 
up  above  Cooper  Square!  He  hailed  me 
and  put  me  wise  to  a  'busting'  job.  The 
employes  of  the  American  Locomotive 
Works  at  Schenectady,  New  York,  were 
out  on  strike  and  the  Pinkertons  had  the 

150 


IN  WHICH  I  FALL  151 

work.  I  grabbed  the  tip  eagerly  and  went 
after  the  job.  I  knew  it  would  be  an  in- 
side one  and  there  would  be  no  booze.  In 
a  'busting'  job  like  that  they  take  the  scab 
help,  put  them  in  the  plant,  and  lock  the 
doors.  That's  done  to  keep  the  scabs  in- 
side all  the  time  and  the  strikers  outside 
all  the  time.  We  slept  on  cots  the  firm 
provided.  I  got  the  job  easily  and  the  pay 
was  four  dollars  a  day — a  fortune.  There 
was  nothing  to  spend  for  board  or  lodg- 
ing. I  saw  visions  of  a  little  home.  I'd 
get  a  little  place  somewhere  in  a  neigh- 
bourhood where  I  was  unknown.  I'd  take 
Jane  there :  we'd  begin  all  over  again  and 
I'd  be  a  good,  kind  husband  to  her.  I  be- 
lieve I  was  happy  on  that  job. 

"It  was  then  that  I  first  took  from  my 
pocket  the  New  Testament  I  carried.  I 
read  it,  portions  of  it  carefully,  but  I 
couldn't  understand  it,  couldn't  even  make 
heads  or  tails  out  of  it.    It  failed  to  make 


152     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

the  slightest  impression  on  me  and  yet  I 
read  and  read  again  certain  portions.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  my  size  and  apparent 
strength  the  bunch  would  have  had  a  lot 
of  fun  over  it  and  over  me,  for  they  were 
a  hard  lot.  They  didn't  like  the  way  my 
sails  were  cut,  so  they  kept  quiet.  One 
fellow,  though,  with  whom  I  became  quite 
friendly,  told  me  he  always  thought  he'd 
seen  everything  there  was  to  see  until  he 
saw  my  Bible  on  a  'busting'  job.  It  was 
a  new  one  to  him  and  I  admitted  it  was  to 
me  as  well. 

"At  the  end  of  my  first  week  I  went  to 
the  boss  and  drew  fifteen  dollars  against 
my  pay.  If  you  guessed  for  a  week  you'd 
fail  on  hitting  on  my  object.  I  sent  it  to 
Jane!  And  as  that  money  order  left 
Schenectady  for  Brooklyn  I  experienced 
the  most  glorious  sensation  of  my  whole 
rotten  life.  I'd  never  felt  so  good  before. 
Unconsciously  I  pushed  out  my  chest, 


IN  WHICH  I  FALL  153 

lifted  up  my  head  and  looked  my  fellows 
in  the  eyes.  Pride  filled  my  heart  and 
tears  filled  my  eyes  as  I  thought  how 
proud  and  happy  it  would  make  Jane. 

"That  tiny  little  bit  of  light  was  still 
aglow  within  me.  It  had  succeeded  in 
breaking  out.  It  had  manifested  itself 
to  the  world. 

"The  job  lasted  four  weeks,  and  at  the 
end  of  that  time  I  received  my  money  less 
the  fifteen.  It  was  a  good  sized  roll  for 
me  and  I  felt  rich.  Some  years  before  it 
wouldn't  have  been  a  consequence.  How- 
ever I  bid  the  plant  good-bye  reluctantly 
and,  together  with  about  a  dozen  more  of 
the  'busters,'  began  the  trip  down  the 
Hudson  by  boat  on  the  Night  Line.  No 
sooner  were  we  aboard  than  the  gang  be- 
gan to  loosen  up.  Every  one  of  us  had 
plenty  of  money  and  the  boat  carried 
plenty  to  drink  of  every  description.  I 
knew  trouble  was  brewing  and  I  decided 


154     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

to  quit  the  gang.  I  remember  I  thought 
I'd  walk  uptown.  Then  I  woke  up.  I 
was  on  a  boat  and  couldn't  get  away.  I'd 
have  to  stay  right  there  and  fight  it  out 
on  the  spot.  I  went  out  on  deck  and 
walked  away,  firm  in  my  determination 
to  let  the  stuff  alone,  come  what  might. 
Around  and  around  the  deck  I  went. 
Each  time  I  passed  the  entrance  to  the 
bar.  Each  time  I  passed  it  I  felt  stronger 
and  better  able  to  hold  tight  to  my  reso- 
lution. Each  time  I  passed  it  I  could 
look  in  at  the  door  and  see  my  friends 
crowded  in  front  of  the  bar.  At  last  I  was 
beating  rum.  But  all  the  same  the  fight 
was  a  bitter  one.  Several  times  I  was  on 
the  verge  of  going  in  to  have  'just  one.' 
For  two  hours  the  game  went  on  like  that 
and  then  just  as  I  passed  the  bar  entrance 
out  lurched  one  of  the  gang  drunk  as  a 
lord  and  smelling  like  a  distillery.  He 
flopped  right  into  my  arms  and  invited  me 


IN  WHICH  I  FALL  155 

to  come  in  and  "ave  a  smile.'  That  invita- 
tion in  itself  didn't  faze  me  a  particle,  but 
the  smell  of  the  fellow's  breath  was  too 
much.  It  was  like  a  red  flag  in  front  of  a 
bull.  My  blood  turned  cold  and  then  hot. 
My  system  was  on  fire.  I  could  have  won 
that  fight,  I'm  sure,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
the  smell  of  the  booze. 

"I  joined  the  gang  and  got  beastly 
drunk.  The  stuff  made  me  crazy  and  I 
didn't  draw  a  sober  breath  until  all  of  my 
'roll'  had  been  'blowed' — about  two  weeks 
later.  And  before  I  had  time  to  get  thor- 
oughly sober  there  was  a  strike  in  the 
Street  Cleaning  Department.  Wadell 
and  Mahon  had  the  job  and  I  got  a  slice 
of  it.  Another  long  booze  ended  only 
when  the  coin  ended. 

"It's  a  curious  thing  that  from  my  last 
day  at  the  lumber  pile,  which  you  will  re- 
member was  a  month  or  more  earlier,  I 
hadn't  once  been  tempted  to  do  any  steal- 


156     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

ing,  and  not  having  been  tempted  I  didn't 
steal.  I  can't  account  for  it,  but  it's  a 
fact.  However,  the  desire  came  back 
strong  after  that  big  drunk  following  the 
Street  Cleaning  strike.  When  the  time 
came  that  I  had  sobered  up,  a  feeling  of 
utter  hopelessness  came  over  me  and  I 
gave  up  the  fight.  I  figured  I  could  never 
get  back  with  my  wife.  For  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  admitted  to  myself  that  I  was 
a  failure.  My  feeling  of  shame  and  re- 
morse and  sorrow  was  so  bitter  I  gave  up 
the  fight — I  quit  'cold.'  I'd  get  a  new 
'roll' — I'd  find  a  sucker  and  then  I'd  beat 
it  for  good  and  all. 

"I  was  in  the  back  room  of  a  saloon 
when  I  reached  this  decision.  I  planned  a 
Western  trip.  Things  were  easier  out 
there.  Just  then  a  strange  thing  hap- 
pened. Like  the  day  they'd  taken  me, 
hand-cuffed  to  Sing  Sing,  the  big  events 
in  my  life  passed  in  review  before  my 


IN  WHICH  I  FALL  157 

eyes.  One  by  one  I  saw  them.  One  by 
one  they  failed  to  move  me — until  last — 
like  the  first  time — came  the  picture  of 
my  wife.  This  time,  though,  I  first  saw 
her  as  she  had  been  when  I  married  her, 
young,  full  of  health  and  happy,  and  then 
I  saw  her  as  she  looked  the  last  time  I'd 
seen  her.  Instantly  my  blood  became 
afire — it  boiled  in  anger  and  resentment 
against  myself.  I  was  all  on  edge  and 
there  in  that  back  room  I  cursed  myself 
over  and  over  again. 

"And  then  I  quieted  down.  A  new  pic- 
ture was  before  my  eyes.  I  couldn't  be- 
lieve it,  but  there  it  was  flashing  ever 
brighter  before  me.  It  showed  me  stand- 
ing in  a  room  with  a  lot  of  men — men  like 
myself — failures.  A  big  man  with  a 
kindly  face  had  his  hand  on  my  shoulder 
and  was  asking  me  if  he  could  do  any- 
thing for  me ! 

"With  a  start  that  shook  me  to  the  very 


158     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

foundation  I  realised  that  I  needed  that 
man  right  then.  I  knew  it!  At  once  I 
left  the  gin  mill  and  went  uptown.  En- 
tering the  Bowery  Mission,  I  asked  for 
Dr.  Hallimond. 

"He  was  confined  to  his  home — slightly 
ill. 

"I  felt  all  in — heart-broken — ready  to 
give  up  again.  I  wished  I  might  die. 
As  I  was  about  to  go  downstairs  and  out 
on  the  street  Charley  Balevre  spied  me 
and  remembered  me,  not  as  John  Goode, 
but  as  a  man  who  had  some  time  earlier 
taken  a  card,  and  then  had  dropped  out 
of  sight.  He  came  right  over  to  me  with 
out-stretched  hand.  He  urged  me  to  stay 
for  the  service  and  to  come  in  regularly. 
He  told  me  to  come  every  day  to  the 
Labour  Bureau  and  he  would  try  and  fix 
me  up  with  enough  work  to  keep  me  go- 
ing until  something  permanent  came 
along. 


IN  WHICH  I  FALL  159 

"God  is  good!  He  spoke  to  me  that 
night  if  ever  he  spoke  to  any  one.  I  see 
it  clearly  as  I  look  back  on  it  now.  My 
disgust  with  myself  and  my  regret  at 
failing  to  see  Dr.  Hallimond  were  suffi- 
cient to  have  driven  me  to  anything. 
Charley  Balevre  saved  the  day:  he  said 
just  what  I  needed  to  hear  and  he  did  it 
just  as  Dr.  Hallimond  would  have  done 
it. 

"I  went  downstairs  meekly  and  broken 
in  spirit.  I  sang  the  hymns  as  I'd  never 
sung  them  before  and  received  great  com- 
fort and  easement  of  mind  from  the  serv- 
ice !  They  gave  me  a  bed  ticket  and  I  was 
glad  to  take  it  for  I  wanted  to  be  alone 
where  I  could  think! 

"Each  day  I  went  to  the  Labour  Bu- 
reau and  each  day  met  the  same  kind 
treatment.  This  business  of  being  kind 
to  others  began  to  soak  in  and  the  deeper 
it  went  the  more  ashamed  of  myself  I  be- 


160     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

came.  You  see  I  didn't  associate  my  emo- 
tions with  any  phase  of  religion;  if  I  had 
I'd  probably  'a'  quit — all  I  had  in  mind 
was  Jane  and  a  square  deal  for  her. 
What  these  men  did  for  me  touched  me 
deeply,  but  I  couldn't  figure  it  out.  Here 
they  were,  total  strangers  to  me,  falling 
over  one  another  to  do  me  kindnesses. 
What  had  ever  I  done  to  deserve  it?  How 
had  I  treated  those  with  whom  I'd  been 
thrown  in  contact?  Finally  I  got  to  the 
point  where  I  admitted  to  myself  that 
there  must  be  something  real  and  tangible 
back  of  it  all.  When  I  arrived  at  that 
point  I'd  taken  my  second  big  step  for- 
ward— out  of  darkness — into  light.  I 
realised  then  that  this  constant  kindness 
to  every  one  stood  for  something  definite. 
The  men  on  the  platform  all  said  it  stood 
for  God! 

"My  third  big  stride  ahead  came  next. 
If  that  was  what  God  stood  for — kindness 


IN  WHICH  I  FALL  161 

— then  I  wanted  God  and  I'd  get  God. 
From  that  moment  on  I  was  as  serious  as 
I  could  be,  about  that  God  business.  I 
didn't  understand  it  but  I  wanted  to,  and 
so  I  tried  to  do  as  they  all  did  and  I  tried 
to  pray.  I  was  imitating  instead  of  be- 
lieving, so  there  was  nothing  doing. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IN  WHICH  I  SUFFER  AS  NEVER  BEFORE 

"The  next  day  an  impulse  overtook  me 
which  I  tried  hard  to  shake  off.  I  wanted 
to  go  and  see  Jane.  And  yet  I  didn't 
want  to  go.  I  thought  I  ought  to  wait  a 
little  until  I  was  surer  of  myself.  But  the 
idea  wouldn't  down  and  over  I  went. 

"She  was  living  then  at  her  brother's 
home  in  Brooklyn.  He  had  little  use  for 
me — justly — and  I  had  as  little  use  for 
him — just  as  justly.  I  found  Jane  with 
strength  and  courage  gone.  Her  sister 
had  just  passed  beyond  into  'the  other 
room'  after  a  long  and  trying  illness,  dur- 
ing all  of  which  time  Jane  in  her  already 
enfeebled  condition  had  nursed  her  ten- 


I  SUFFER  AS  NEVER  BEFORE  163 

derly  day  and  night.  Poor  little  woman, 
she  was  indeed  in  a  sorry  plight.  I  never 
wanted  to  do  anything  so  badly  as  I 
wanted  to  tell  her  about  the  Bowery  Mis- 
sion and  what  it  was  doing  for  me.  Yes ! 
and  about  what  it  had  done  for  me.  But 
I  didn't.  I  thought  it  best  to  wait.  I'd 
disappointed  her  so  bitterly  so  many  times 
that  I  preferred  to  wait  and  not  run  any 
chances  of  doing  it  again.  But,  oh!  how 
my  heart  ached  for  her  as  I  sat  by  her  bed- 
side! How  I  longed  to  do  for  her!  I 
stood  it  as  long  as  I  could  and,  taking  her 
in  my  arms,  embraced  her  as  I  should 
have  done  seventeen  years  before  but  had 
failed  to  do.    And  then  I  left  her. 

"As  I  passed  out  of  the  house  into  the 
street  a  great  surging  impulse  stirred  me : 
moved  me  like  I'd  never  been  moved  be- 
fore. I  stood  still  in  my  tracks,  closed 
my  eyes  and  offered  up  to  Heaven  this 
silent  prayer: 


164.     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

"  'Oh!  God,  if  you're  what  they  say  you 
are  over  there  in  the  Mission,  give  me  the 
help  I  need — make  me  a  good  husband  to 
my  wife !' 

"It  was  the  first  prayer  I'd  ever  said. 
It  was  offered  with  all  my  heart  and  it 
brought  me  instant  relief.  I  felt  soothed 
and  comforted  and  I  walked  with  a  lighter 
step  and  a  braver  heart.  In  that  prayer  I 
asked  for  all  I  thought  I  needed.  But  I 
needed  lots  else  to  make  me  a  man. 

"Without  having  had  a  mouthful  of 
food  all  day  I  went  to  the  Mission  that 
evening.  I'd  walked  to  and  from  Brook- 
lyn besides  tramping  around  looking  for 
work.  I  was  exhausted.  The  music 
cheered  me  and  I  listened  attentively  to 
the  men  who  testified  to  what  good  the 
Mission  did  them  and  to  all  God  had  done 
for  them  and  was  doing  each  day  they 
continued  to  serve  Him.  I  didn't  laugh 
once  that  night!     I  tried  as  hard  as  I 


I  SUFFER  AS  NEVER  BEFORE     165 

could  to  make  it  all  seem  real  to  me  like 
it  did  to  the  speakers.  And  when  they 
asked  for  requests  for  prayer  I  stood  up 
and  asked  them  to  pray  for  me ! 

"Surely,  surely  I  was  making  headway, 
and  as  soon  as  I  sat  down  I  realised  it.  I 
didn't  feel  ashamed — simply  strange. 
And  I  left  the  service  greatly  strength- 
ened physically  by  the  coffee  and  rolls. 

"Then  began  the  period  of  most  in- 
tense mental  and  physical  suffering  I  ever 
went  through.  I'd  had  a  hard  life  and 
had  suffered  all  sorts  of  hardships  but 
they  were  child's  play  alongside  of  my 
experiences  until  the  following  May — a 
period  of  about  six  months. 

"I'd  been  one  of  twenty-five  selected  by 
Charley  Balevre  to  form  a  Bible  Class  to 
meet  with  Dr.  Hallimond  on  Wednesday 
nights  for  an  hour  prior  to  the  big  service 
in  the  Mission.  I  was  very  proud  of  the 
chance,  although  it  didn't  mean  very  much 


166     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

to  me,  but  I  made  up  my  mind  to  fight 
my  battle  to  a  finish. 

"It  was  January  and  a  bitter  cold  one 
at  that.  I  don't  think  I  possessed  as  much 
as  seven  pounds  of  clothing  including  my 
shoes.  Both  of  them  were  nearly  gone 
and  I  had  no  overcoat.  I  had  neither 
work  nor  money.  I  went  over  the  whole 
situation  carefully  and  made  up  my  mind 
that  unless  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
I'd  accept  no  favours  from  any  one  at 
the  Mission  except,  of  course,  work.  And 
I  was  the  same  man  who  only  a  little 
while  before  had  gone  there  to  do  them 
up !  Such  is  the  power  of  the  religion  of 
Jesus  Christ — that's  what  they  were  tam- 
ing me  with. 

"For  days  and  days  from  ten  till  four  I 
sat  in  the  Labour  Bureau  sharing  with 
my  comrades  the  scanty  calls  for  work 
that  came  in  over  the  phone  and  by  mail. 
I  grabbed  a  ten-cent  errand  like  I  used  to 


I  SUFFER  AS  NEVER  BEFORE  167 

grab  a  thousand  dollar  roll.  I  tackled 
everything  they  offered  me.  There  were 
days  and  days  during  which  I  didn't  get 
a  mouthful  to  eat  except  the  roll  and  cof- 
fee at  the  Mission  about  ten  o'clock,  then 
one  on  the  Bread  Line  at  one  o'clock. 
Night  after  night  in  almost  zero  weather 
I  'carried  the  banner'  without  an  over- 
coat and  with  the  poorest  kind  of  broken 
shoes.  Cold?  Cold?  Say,  man,  all  you 
know  about  cold  is  how  it's  spelled!  I've 
been  so  cold  on  some  of  those  nights  I 
didn't  know  where  I  was  walking  or  even 
that  I  was  walking.  I  got  so  cold  I  didn't 
know  it  was  cold!  And  then  how  I  suf- 
fered after  sun-up  on  a  warm  grating  over 
a  bakery  where  I  drank  in  the  savoury 
odour  of  freshly  baked  bread!  You've 
walked  a  mile  maybe  in  zero  weather,  on  a 
good  big  breakfast  and  before  a  hearty 
meat  dinner  while  you  were  warmly  clad. 
Well  I  know  what  it  means  to  walk  in 


168     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

that  weather  all  night  for  seven  consecu- 
tive nights,  scantily  clad  and  not  tasting 
one  morsel  of  meat  or  fat  in  all  that  time. 
And  what  I  got  at  the  Mission  taught  me 
how  to  do  that  little  stunt  without  com- 
plaining and  without  making  a  touch! 
Don't  you  call  that  a  result?  Do  you 
think  I  did  it  for  fun?  I  did  it  because  I 
wanted  God  and  I  couldn't  get  God  un- 
less I  was  on  the  level.  Not  once  in  that 
six  months  did  I  enter  a  saloon  or  touch  a 
drop  of  beer  or  liquor  or  wine !  Not  once 
in  that  six  months  was  I  profane ! 

"One  day  while  sitting  in  the  Labour 
Bureau — half  starved,  helpless,  almost 
hopeless  and  despairing  of  ever  making 
good,  I  wondered  whether  it  was  worth 
while  to  go  on.  There  were  about  eighty 
of  us  sitting  about,  and  there  wouldn't 
be  eighty  or  forty  or  thirty  jobs  come 
in  that  day.  There  wasn't  a  chance  in 
the  world  of  my  making  so  much  as  ten 


I  SUFFER  AS  NEVER  BEFORE  169 

cents.  Another  night  must  I  walk  and 
walk  and  walk  those  icy,  friendless  streets 
till  daylight.  You  couldn't  stop  or  you'd 
die  of  exposure.  I  was  on  the  verge  of 
throwing  up  the  sponge.  God  above 
knows  how  I  was  tempted,  but  I  didn't 
yield.  I  sat  still  and  grit  my  teeth.  And 
then  in  the  midst  of  my  despair  and  dis- 
couragement in  walked  Charley  Balevre. 
He  must  have  read  my  face,  for  over  he 
came  and  asked  how  things  were  going. 
Before  I  had  time  to  answer  he  slipped  a 
dollar  bill  into  my  hand  and  left  me  stand- 
ing there.  It  was  a  gracious  act  and  it 
came  at  a  time  when  something  unusual 
was  needed  to  save  the  day.  Never  before 
or  since  has  anything  so  strengthened  me 
and  put  heart  in  me.  A  single,  simple 
act!  He  had  seen  my  desperate  need. 
My  soul  cried  to  Heaven  in  thanks!  I 
could  sleep  on  a  'pad'  again !  I  could  have 
a  piece  of  meat  again!    I  could  take  off 


170     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

my  clothes  that  night  and  have  a  warm 
bath.  Do  you  wonder  such  thoughts 
made  me  feel  good? 

"On  my  way  to  a  lodging  house  that 
night  to  rent  a  'pad'  I  was  told  that  the 
Holy  Name  Mission  was  to  remain  open 
all  night  because  of  the  cold!  In  I  went 
and  also  the  four  following  nights — five 
nights  of  delightful,  refreshing  sleep, 
even  though  it  came  on  a  hard,  wooden 
bench  with  my  clothes  on! 

"Does  God  help  a  man  'come  back' 
while  the  man  is  on  the  level?  Let's  see!  I 
was  fighting  hard.  That  January  was  the 
toughest  of  my  life  but  I  kept  on  right  up 
to  the  verge  of  the  breaking  point.  Then 
came  that  dollar  bill!  Then  five  nights 
of  warm,  restful  sleep!  And  then  the 
Mission  gave  me  a  job  with  board  and  a 
place  to  sleep  in  the  Memorial  House — a 
place  they  maintained  where  some  of  their 
converts  lived!     I  was  to  tend  door  and 


I  SUFFER  AS  NEVER  BEFORE     171 

the  salary  was  one  dollar  a  week.  Every 
man  in  the  house  was  living  right  and 
thinking  right.  I  was  thrown  into  inti- 
mate relation  with  these  fellows  and  I  got 
a  lot  of  strength  and  courage  to  help  me 
keep  on  struggling  for  a  better  manhood 
and  for  God ! 

"I  attended  the  Mission  services  regu- 
larly and  the  Wednesday  night  Bible 
Class.  My  ultimate  victory — although  I 
fell  down  again  miserably  before  I 
reached  it — I  lay  to  that  six  months'  Bible 
study  with  Dr.  Hallimond.  When  I  got 
through  the  Bible  meant  something  to  me 
or  rather  a  very  small  part  of  it  did. 

"We  began  our  study  at  a  happy  Chap- 
ter. I  doubt  if  any  other  would  have  'got' 
me  the  way  that  one  did.  Perhaps  the 
Doctor  had  more  of  my  kind  among  the 
twenty-five.  At  any  rate  he  chose  well, 
for  all  of  us,  without  exception,  developed 
splendidly  in  our  new  life.     We  started 


172     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

and  finished  one  chapter  in  those  six 
months — the  13th  Chapter  of  First  Corin- 
thians. Its  undreamed  of  treasures  were 
food  to  my  starved  soul.  As  the  meaning 
of  it — of  love — dawned  slowly  on  my 
mind  I  could  see  the  beautiful  way  it  had 
been  applied  to  me  and  I  realised  at  last 
that  religion  did  have  a  'kick'  in  it  and 
that  the  brand  I'd  run  up  against,  down 
there  on  the  Bowery,  was  the  real  stuff. 
I  understood  then  why  they  fed  fellows 
and  got  them  work  as  well  as  talked  to 
them  about  God  and  his  love.  It  was  a 
different  sort  of  brotherly  love  than  I'd 
heard  about  in  prisons  and  reform  schools. 
"Love — Brotherly  Love — The  love  of 
God — His  love  for  us — all  these  things 
became  real  to  me  then.  I  wanted  to  be 
on  God's  side — but  only  for  Jane!  I 
hadn't  yet  caught  the  true  meaning. 
What  I  wanted  God  for  was  because  of 
Jane. 


I  SUFFER  AS  NEVER  BEFORE  173 

"I  thought  she  needed  it  in  me.  I 
didn't  dream  I  needed  it  first.  I  didn't 
know  then  that  I  couldn't  go  safely — keep 
right  until  I  got  God  for  myself.  But  I 
learned  that  like  I  learned  all  I  know  by 
personal  experience,  the  best  teacher  in 
the  world. 

"From  my  dollar  a  week  job  in  the 
Memorial  House  they  transferred  me  to  a 
job  at  a  dollar  and  fifty  cents  a  week  in 
the  industrial  department  at  the  Mission 
itself.  I  ate  and  slept  there.  My  duties 
consisted  of  going  out  on  call  to  collect 
old  chairs  that  were  to  be  re-caned  and 
furniture  that  needed  re-upholstering  or 
repairing.  This  work  was  done  in  the 
Mission  by  men  who  were  going  through 
the  same  process  I  was  going  through. 
When  the  work  was  completed  I  delivered 
it  and  collected  the  money.  They  trusted 
me  implicitly,  of  course,  although  they 
knew  my  past  just  as  you  do.    I  turned  in 


174     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

every  cent  I  collected  and  sometimes  I 
carried  a  goodly  amount  of  money.  I 
did  it  all  without  an  error  and  without 
even  a  single  thought  of  being  dishonest. 
You  know  what  love  and  responsibility 
will  do.  Love  is  the  most  powerful  force 
in  the  world  and  there  is  no  power  on 
earth  can  stop  it  once  it  gets  into  a  fel- 
low's skin.  That's  Mr.  Osborne's  belief 
and  the  results  he's  had  at  Auburn  and 
Sing  Sing  are  only  natural  and  common- 
place. He's  awakening  in  the  hearts  of 
those  men  something  they  didn't  know 
they  possessed. 

"As  I  called  each  week  on  Jane  I  could 
see  plainly  she  was  getting  no  better,  in 
fact  I  saw  she  was  failing.  How  my  heart 
ached!  And  as  I  noticed  this  change  for 
the  worse  in  her  she  noticed  the  change 
for  the  better  in  me.  Frequently  she  said 
to  me,  the  tears  streaming  down  her 
cheeks,  'John's  a  good  man  now !' 


I  SUFFER  AS  NEVER  BEFORE  175 

"While  my  salary  had  been  a  dollar  a 
week  I'd  given  her  half  of  it,  but  now  that 
I  earned  $1.50  I  could  spare  her  a  dollar, 
which  she  got  regularly.  Those  were 
proud  and  happy  days  for  both  of  us! 
Each  day  that  passed  gave  me  greater 
confidence  in  my  strength  and  my  ability 
to  beat  the  things  that  for  years  had 
beaten  me. 

"The  month  of  May  rolled  round  as  I 
began  to  get  impatient  at  the  progress  I 
was  making.  I  wasn't  earning  enough. 
I  wanted  a  home  where  I  could  take  Jane. 
One  dollar  and  a  half  wouldn't  give  it  to 
me.  And  so  I  looked  around  for  new  em- 
ployment. All  my  friends  advised  me  to 
remain  at  or  near  the  Mission,  to  stay 
where  its  influence  could  help  me  until  I 
was  stronger  in  my  new  life. 

"But  no,  I  must  have  more  money.  I 
must  have  a  home  for  my  failing  wife.    I 


176     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

feared  she  would  die.  I  dreaded  to  think 
of  that  before  I  had  in  a  small  way  made 
up  to  her  for  all  those  years  of  agony  and 
heartache. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

IN    WHICH   IS    HELL 

"And  so  with  the  best  and  truest  inten- 
tions in  the  world,  with  the  positive  belief 
that  I  was  safe,  I  left  the  Mission.  Many 
a  man  with  position,  ability  and  education 
makes  moves  as  disastrous  as  this  one  of 
mine.  But  in  all  such  cases  they  are 
thought  of  merely  as  'mistaken  judg- 
ment.' In  my  case  and  in  cases  of  others 
of  my  kind  the  verdict  is  'wilful  backslid- 
ing.' 

"I  got  a  job  in  the  Oceanic  Hotel  at 
Coney  Island,  about  the  worst  place  in  the 
whole  world  for  me  to  go.  I  see  it  now 
and  I  saw  it  then,  just  after  it  was  too 
late.    About  all  I  saw  was  drink.    About 

177 


178     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

all  I  heard  was  'the  ponies.'  I  was  a  por- 
ter and  general  utility  man.  The  pay  was 
a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day  and  my  bed. 
The  season  was  just  starting.  The  sport- 
ing, drinking  and  gambling  part  of  the 
public  had  been  shut  in  the  city  all  winter. 
They  hailed  the  opening  of  the  beaches 
and  the  tracks  with  delight.  For  a  month 
I  stood  my  ground  solidly.  I  felt  justi- 
fied in  the  move  I'd  made.  Jane  was  de- 
lighted at  my  will  power  and  strength.  I 
didn't  waver  a  bit — had  not  the  slightest 
desire  for  drink  or  poolroom.  Things  went 
smoothly  and  well.  If  I  had  been  aware 
of  any  temptation  I'd  'a'  beat  it  away.  I 
feel  sure  of  this  as  I  look  back  at  it  now. 

"But  things  couldn't  go  like  that  long. 
The  environment  was  wrong  and  the  good 
influence  of  the  Mission  and  the  men  there 
was  lacking.  I  was  relying  on  my  own 
strength  and  I  hadn't  enough  to  hold  me. 

"I  fell;  that's  all.    I  didn't  do  it  delib- 


IN  WHICH  IS  HELL  179 

erately.  The  first  thing  I  knew  I'd  been 
in  Paddy  Shea's  poolroom — placed  a  bet 
— lost — and  had  a  drink.  The  old  life 
had  me.  It  was  all  over.  My  system  was 
on  fire  and  I  couldn't  put  it  out.  I  went 
to  the  bottom — way,  way  down  into  the 
slime  and  filth  of  sin  and  shame.  While 
it  lasted  I  gloried  in  it.  That  must  have 
been  so  else  I'd  never  gone  so  far. 

"You  know  what  Jane  suffered  and 
what  it  cost  her. 

"I  stole  all  she  had  saved  of  the  money 
I'd  sent  her.  I  hocked  her  insurance 
papers  and  all  else  she  had  on  which 
'Uncle'  would  advance  anything.  It  all 
went — every  single  pawnable  thing!  I'd 
go  up  there  drunk,  with  a  flask  in  my 
pocket  and  go  to  bed  where  I'd  stay  till 
the  flask  was  empty. 

"I'd  been  fired  from  my  job  at  the 
Oceanic  and  had  gotten  one  as  a  dish- 
washer at  the  English  Kitchen  on  the 


180     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

Brighton  Pike  at  a  dollar  a  day.  Each 
night  I  drew  fifty  cents  against  my  wage. 
That  gave  me  a  quarter  for  my  bed  and  a 
quarter  for  booze. 

"Day  after  day  this  went  on  and  Au- 
gust came  around.  It  was  about  the 
tenth  of  the  month,  I  think,  that  I  went 
up  to  see  Jane.  I  was  beastly  drunk  and 
wild  from  the  effects  of  an  unusually  hard 
debauch.  I  staggered  up  the  street  and 
into  the  house.  I  went  up  to  her  room. 
There  she  lay  I 

"Her  teeth  were  chattering.  Her  arms 
lay  helpless  at  her  sides.  She  didn't  know 
me.  She  was  trying  to  speak  but  couldn't. 
The  neighbours  were  about.  All  was  ex- 
citement. For  a  wonder  I  came  partially 
to  my  senses.  I  telephoned  and  finally  an 
ambulance  came  from  Seney  Hospital 
and  the  brave  little  woman  was  taken 
away  desperately  ill  from  a  stroke. 

"As  soon  as  she  was  gone  the  drunken 


IN  WHICH  IS  HELL  181 

rage  returned  and  I  broke  loose  more  vio- 
lently than  ever  before  in  my  life.  I  ran- 
sacked the  place,  smashing  things  to  bits. 
I  found  five  dollars  I'd  missed  before 
and  stole  that.  As  I  was  about  to  leave 
an  insane  impulse  seized  me  and  I  lifted 
her  trunk  in  my  arms,  hurled  it  through 
the  door  and  down  a  flight  of  stairs. 

"Off  I  went  to  Coney  Island  and  began 
all  over  again.  In  a  few  days  I  sobered 
up  sufficiently  to  remember  Jane  and  went 
up  to  the  Hospital  to  see  her.  She  was 
somewhat  better — enough  so  that  she 
could  speak.  She  saw  me  coming  through 
the  ward.  Throwing  her  arms  about  my 
neck,  she  cried  in  agony  and  despair: 

"  'Oh,  God,  what  will  become  of  me 
now?' 

"That  scene  and  that  cry  and  the  look 
on  her  face  struck  terror  to  my  heart.  At 
once  I  was  dead  sober — as  sober  as  I  am 
now.    I  was  a  thinking  man  again.    Man 


182     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

enough  to  have  swallowed  the  poison  I 
couldn't  swallow  before,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  the  woman  in  front  of  me !  And  then 
my  head  swam.  Perspiration  stood  out  in 
beads  on  my  forehead.  My  wife  was  go- 
ing to  die !  No !  No !  it  couldn't  be !  It 
mustn't  be!  There  must  be  something  I 
could  do.  And  then  it  flashed  across  my 
mind — The  Mission!  there  I  could  get 
help !  I'd  ask  them.  I'd  write  Dr.  Halli- 
mond. 

"All  the  way  back  to  Coney  Island  I 
thought  of  what  I'd  done.  I  cried  to  God 
for  wisdom,  for  help — for  the  life  of  my 
dear  wife.  For  the  first  time  I  felt  that 
I  had  offended  God — that  God  cared  what 
I  did.  That  feeling  was  very  strong  in 
me  as  I  sat  down  and  wrote  to  Dr.  Halli- 
mond. 

"In  the  letter  I  made  a  full,  frank 
statement.  I  told  him  of  the  dastardly 
things  I'd  done.    I  asked  him  for  help — 


IN  WHICH  IS  HELL  183 

for  something — anything  for  my  wife. 
'For  God's  sake  do  for  her — save  her 
life.'  For  myself  I  asked  nothing  save 
forgiveness.  I  did  ask  that — I  asked  him 
to  pray  for  me. 

"For  several  days  I  awaited  a  reply 
from  him.  None  came.  What  could  have 
happened?  Surely  he  was  not  throwing 
me  over.  No,  I  knew  better.  My  anxiety 
was  making  me  ill  when  a  letter  came 
postmarked  Brooklyn.  Who  in  Brooklyn 
would  write  me  ?  Hastily  I  tore  open  the 
envelope  and  read  the  signature.  The  let- 
ter came  from  one  of  the  members  of  the 
Wednesday  Night  Bible  Class  and  his 
wife — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Putnam.  So  long 
as  God  gives  me  the  power  to  remember, 
this  sentence  from  that  letter  will  stay 
with  me:  'If  you  don't  come  up  to  our 
house,  and  that  right  away,  we'll  have  to 
come  down  there  to  you.' 

"There  indeed  was  Friendship  and  Love 


184     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

and  Kindness.  Dr.  Hallimond,  when  my 
letter  reached  him,  was  laid  up  tempora- 
rily. At  once  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Putnam  to 
get  on  the  job  and  he  hadn't  lost  a  mo- 
ment in  doing  so.  Instinctively  I  knew 
that  whatever  there  was  to  do  for  Jane 
had  already  been  done.  My  relief  was 
overpowering.  I  went  all  to  pieces.  I 
couldn't  answer  that  letter;  it  broke  me 
up  when  I  tried  to.  Then  another  one 
came  much  like  the  first  and  I  went  up  to 
their  home — up  Flatbush  way  somewhere. 

"On  bended  knees  we  prayed  long  and 
earnestly. 

"When  I  reached  Coney  Island  a  great 
load  had  been  lifted  from  my  mind.  With 
Mrs.  Putnam  on  the  job  I  knew  how  Jane 
would  fare.  And  until  the  day  Jane 
passed  away  Mrs.  Putnam  was  the  good 
angel.  Countless  kindnesses  and  loving 
attentions  she  showered  on  my  wife  and 
became  closer  to  her  than  any  woman 


IN  WHICH  IS  HELL  185 

friend  she  ever  had.  Such  is  the  power 
and  love  in  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ! 

"With  a  set  jaw  I  returned  to  my  dish- 
washing and  behaved  myself.  I  finished 
the  season  at  it  and  I  finished  without 
once  side-stepping  in  any  way.  Jane  re- 
covered shortly,  sufficiently  to  be  moved 
to  her  brother's  house  and  I  again  began 
sending  her  what  money  I  could  spare 
from  my  seven  dollars  a  week. 

"For  some  time  before  the  end  of  the 
season  I  had  longed  for  the  Mission  and 
its  good  friends — for  the  influence  it  ex- 
erted, but  I  wanted  to  get  on  my  feet 
without  their  aid.  At  the  close  of  the 
Mardi  Gras  I  was  glad  to  get  away  from 
the  Island.  The  call  of  the  Mission  was 
strong  upon  me  and  I  wanted  more 
money.  Jane  was  stronger  and  I  wanted 
her  to  have  her  own  home.  That  desire 
was  stronger  than  it  ever  had  been  be- 
fore. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

TOGETHER — AT  LAST 

"Back  in  New  York  never  to  leave  it 
again!  Back  at  the  Mission!  Back 
among  my  Christian  friends!  Back  at 
the  Labour  Bureau!  My  strength  and 
hope  and  courage  returned  to  me  many 
fold  and  thoroughly  did  I  realise  what  it 
had  cost — my  leaving  there  that  spring. 

"Jobs  didn't  come  in  very  fast  and  my 
money  was  almost  gone  when  a  wonder- 
ful thing  happened.  Wonderful  because 
I  was  nearly  broke  and  because  I  chanced 
to  be  around  when  it  happened. 

"The  firm  for  whom  I  first  went  to 
work — piling  lumber — needed  an  extra 
man,  and  as  before  telephoned  the  Labour 
Bureau. 

186 


TOGETHER— AT  LAST  187 

"  'Had  the  Mission  a  man  to  send 
over?' 

"  'Yes,  the  same  man  they  sent  before. 
Would  he  do?' 

"  'Yes,  he  had  done  well.  Send  him 
over  right  away.' 

"And  I  went.  They  were  busy  and  for 
about  three  weeks  the  work  was  steady. 
Nearly  all  my  money  went  to  Jane,  of 
which  she  saved  considerable.  This  time 
the  work  was  a  little  more  interesting  and 
I  became  well  liked  by  some  of  the  men. 

"Each  day  I  prayed  for  strength  to 
stand  for  God  and  for  regular  employ- 
ment. And  then  came  a  day  when  the 
end  of  the  work  was  in  sight.  I  got  talk- 
ing with  Bill  Quarterly  about  my  need  of 
steady  work  because  of  a  sick  wife,  and  he 
asked  me  why  I  didn't  make  a  bid  for  a 
steady  job  there.  I  told  him  I  didn't 
know  why. 

"  'If  you  don't  I'll  do  it  for  you,'  was 


188     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

his  reply,  and  he  did.  Then  and  there  I 
was  added  to  the  regular  payroll. 

"Without  the  slightest  warning  that  it 
was  at  hand  my  greatest  wish  had  come 
to  pass.  I  couldn't  believe  it.  It  didn't 
seem  real.  I  didn't  deserve  it.  Ten  dol- 
lars a  week — five  hundred  and  twenty 
dollars  a  year — with  overtime  amounting 
to  possibly  seventy-five  dollars  more. 
And  all  with  a  reliable  house  doing  a  big, 
yearly  business. 

"A  home  at  last! 

"I  didn't  deserve  it  but  Jane  did  and 
she  would  have  it!  And  then — then — 
would  I  stick?  With  God's  help  I  would. 
I  knew  that.  At  night  I  prayed  to  Him 
as  I'd  never  prayed  before  that  I  might 
remain  steadfast  and  true  to  Him.  If  I 
did  that  I'd  remain  steadfast  and  true  to 
her.  I  had  it  right  this  time.  I  wanted 
to  aid  my  wife  through  God. 

"And  God  answered  my  prayer.     He 


TOGETHER— AT  LAST  189 

has  kept  me  safe  ever  since.  He  left  Jane 
with  me  for  a  little  longer.  He  let  me 
make  up  to  her  one  hundred  millionth 
part  of  what  I  owed  her.  He  let  me  see 
her  supremely  happy.  He  let  me  help 
her  make  others  happy.  Yes,  God  is 
good! 

"I  told  Dr.  Hallimond  about  my  good 
fortune — about  answered  prayer.  I  told 
him  what  I  wanted  to  do,  and  the  look 
that  came  into  his  kindly  face  told  me  to 
'Go  ahead.'  And  ahead  I  went.  I  took  a 
dingy  little  room  in  the  basement  of  a 
rooming  house  at  210  West  14th  St.,  quite 
near  my  work. 

"And  then  we  had  our  honeymoon! 
My  wife,  myself  and  God! 

"There  have  been  many  honeymoons  in 
this  old  world  of  ours,  but  there  never 
was  a  happier  one  than  that.  The  void 
that  for  seventeen  years  had  filled  her 
heart   with    anguish    and   sorrow   disap- 


190     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

peared.  God  is  good!  Yes,  indeed,  He 
is !  He  brought  us  together  but  He  spared 
each  of  us  the  knowledge  that  her  illness 
was  incurable,  and  that  slowly  but  surely 
she  must  fail  until  it  was  time  for  her  to 
go.  He  let  our  remaining  nineteen 
months  together  be  months  of  fuller  joys 
than  most  men  know.  I  can  never  thank 
Him  enough  for  His  goodness  and  mercy 
to  me. 

"The  one  room  we  called  home  I  fur- 
nished with  odds  and  ends  from  here  and 
there  and  we  began  our  housekeeping. 
At  first  Jane  was  well  enough  to  walk  the 
necessary  three  or  four  blocks  to  do  the 
marketing.  She  was  a  careful  buyer,  for 
well  had  she  learned  the  value  of  a  dollar. 
In  her  hands  my  ten  dollars  went  twice  as 
far  as  I  could  have  made  them  go.  Our 
industrial  insurance  was  always  paid  well 
in  advance !    The  work  at  the  factory  went 


TOGETHER— AT  LAST  191 

smoothly  along  and  our  happiness  was 
complete. 

"It  was  then  immediately  after  our  re- 
union that  religion  became  most  real  to 
me.  It  became  a  living  tangible  thing,  a 
force,  a  power  that  I  could  clothe  myself 
with  and  make  good  use  of  each  day  I 
lived.  My  home,  humble  though  it  was, 
acted  like  a  tonic  on  my  tired,  weary  sys- 
tem. There  was  silver  in  my  wife's  hair 
and  music  in  her  laughter.  I'd  put  the 
silver  there  and  the  music  there.  I 
couldn't  take  the  silver  away  but  I  could 
prevent  the  musical  laughter  from  ever 
going  away.  That  was  my  job  and  an 
easier  one  no  man  ever  had. 

"  'John,  you're  a  good  man  now!' 

"Over  and  over  again  she  said  that  as 
she  sat  at  her  mending  while  I  read. 

"The  Mission  by  now  entranced  me  like 
the  race  tracks  had  done  such  a  short  while 


192     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

before.  I  became  an  assistant  leader  and 
then  a  leader. 

"I  stood  on  the  platform  and  told  my 
story  to  the  crowd  of  men  in  front  of  me 
firm  in  the  knowledge  that  somewhere  in 
that  crowd  was  a  man  I  could  touch  like 
I'd  been  touched — firm  in  the  belief  that 
each  time  I  told  of  the  power  of  the  re- 
ligion of  Jesus  Christ  I  strengthened  my 
own  faith  and  foundation  and  strength- 
ened the  faith  of  each  man  who  heard  me. 

"As  time  went  on  and  I  began  to  meet 
more  right  thinking  people  I  became  con- 
vinced that  the  reason  men  fall  away  from 
God  is  because  they  stop  thinking.  And 
so  I  planned  what  I  had  to  say  along  lines 
calculated  to  make  men  see  in  themselves 
something  I  had  formerly  possessed. 
After  a  while  I  began  to  hear  little  things 
and  see  little  things  that  made  me  feel 
that  I  too  was  spreading  the  story  of  love 
— of  hope — that  Jesus  told — that  I  was 


TOGETHER— AT  LAST  193 

helping  others  to  something  better.  It 
made  me  wonderfully  happy  and  gave  me 
more  courage  and  faith  and  strength.  I 
went  among  the  fellows  in  the  meetings 
and  learned  to  know  them  personally. 
And  then  after  I'd  go  home  Jane  and  I 
would  talk  over  the  men  I'd  met  and 
wanted  to  help.  Thus  it  was  that  God 
became  so  real  to  me.  I  saw  Him  at  work 
and  I  worked  with  Him.  I  knew  what 
He'd  done  for  me.  I  could  see  it.  My 
wife  could  see  it.  My  friends  could  see 
it.  It  was  real.  My  home  and  my  new 
self  were  powerful  testimonies  to  His 
realness.  No  argument  could  get  away 
from  those  things.  And  I  knew,  too,  that 
nowhere  in  the  world  could  a  man  be 
found  with  a  more  unpromising  outlook 
for  success  than  I  had  had. 

"The  wonderfully  beautiful  part  of  life 
in  that  little  basement  room  of  ours  were 
the  Christian  friends  I'd  made  at  the  Mis- 


194.     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

sion.  They  all  knew  my  story  and  they 
came  regularly  and  gladly  with  delicacies 
and  good  cheer  for  Jane. 

"There  were  rough  times,  too,  when 
we'd  close  for  a  day  or  two  at  the  factory. 
There  were  other  times  when  calls  on  the 
cash  were  heavy  for  medicine.  There 
were  times  when  men  we  were  interested 
in  needed  money  more  than  we  did.  Many 
times  there  wasn't  all  we'd  liked  to  have 
had,  but  always  there  was  something  else 
that  all  the  money  in  the  world  wouldn't 
buy — the  'peace  that  passeth  all  under- 
standing' and  the  knowledge  that  God  is 
all-powerful. 

"But  like  all  happy  times  an  end  had 
to  come.  Jane  grew  more  feeble.  She 
could  do  less  and  less  of  the  housework. 
This  I  did  at  night.  Finally  she  could 
do  no  more  than  crawl  about  from  chair 
to  chair  and  watch  longingly  between  the 


TOGETHER— AT  LAST  195 

gratings  in  our  only  window  for  my  re- 
turn. 

"I  left  home  early  after  getting  break- 
fast and  washing  the  dishes  and  didn't  re- 
turn till  twelve-thirty  for  lunch.  One  day 
on  coming  home  the  shutters  were  closed 
and  I  was  startled.  And  then  inside, 
downstairs,  our  door  was  locked  from 
within.  In  a  second  I'd  walked  right 
through  it — frame  and  all. 

"There  on  the  floor  in  a  great,  wide 
pool  of  her  own  blood  lay  Jane  with  a 
two-inch  hole  in  her  skull  from  falling  in 
a  faint.  And  we  sent  her  away  to  a  hos- 
pital with  a  second  stroke. 

"More  feeble  than  ever,  she  returned! 
Gracious  and  happy  and  contented  she 
was!  Not  once  had  she  ever  scolded  me 
or  chided  me  or  crossed  me  in  any  way. 
And  here  she  was  dying  and  I  was  help- 
less to  save  her.  All  I  could  do  was  to 
care  for  her  in  my  primitive  way.     My 


196     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

friends  would  have  sent  her  to  a  private 
room  in  a  hospital,  but  she  wouldn't  leave 
her  home  or  her  John !  They  would  have, 
sent  in  a  nurse,  but  she  would  allow  no 
one  to  care  for  her  but  'John.'  Even 
after  she  was  unable  to  recognise  them 
they  came  and  came  and  came — these 
friends  of  ours — these  friends  so  full  of 
brotherly  love. 

On  the  advice  of  at  least  three  doctors 
I  kept  her  alive  on  whiskey  for  the  last 
few  months.  My  wife  was  dying  under 
my  very  eyes.  I'd  had  to  give  up  the 
little  home  where  we'd  lived  and  loved.  I 
was  powerless  to  help  her.  But  I  bought 
her  whiskey  and  I  fed  her  whiskey  for 
weeks  and  weeks  and  weeks  and  not  a 
drop  of  it  ever  touched  my  lips.  Oh,  God 
is  good!  Think  what  He  saved  that 
woman  from  as  she  lay  there  dying!  God 
is  good ! 

At  last  she  required  more  care  than  I 


TOGETHER— AT  LAST;  197 

could  give  her — you  know  the  rest — how 
we  sent  her  to  Bellevue  and  how  she  died. 
You  were  there! 


John  Goode's  huge  frame  shook  convul- 
sively while  unchecked  tears  rolled  down 
his  cheeks.  They  were  tears  of  sadness 
and  shame,  of  joy  and  victory  all  in  one. 
The  floodgates  of  an  intense  nature  had 
broken  open.  Such  tears  are  difficult  to 
check  even  when  there  is  a  will,  but  there 
was  no  will  now  to  check  them.  There 
are  times  when  naught  save  tears  will 
bring  relief,  and  this  was  such  a  time. 

Instinctively  my  mind  went  back  to  that 
clear,  cold  October  day  when  Jane  lay  so 
sick  in  Bellevue  Hospital! 

Was  it  the  guiding  hand  of  Providence 
that  had  forced  this  man  and  his  desper- 
ately sick  wife  into  my  mind  as  I  worked 
at  my  desk  that  day?  Was  it  the  guiding 
hand  of  Providence  that  had  kept  me  un- 


198     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

easy  all  day  until  at  half -past  four  I  could 
stand  it  no  longer?  I  put  on  my  hat  and 
walked  over  to  the  factory  where  he 
worked  and  together  we  went  around  the 
corner  to  their  dingy  basement  room 
where  they  had  been  so  wondrously 
happy  for  over  nineteen  months.  We 
went  to  that  room  which  had  been  a  re- 
treat from  storm  and  temptation  for  so 
many,  many  human  derelicts — to  that 
room  which  had  shared  its  all  with  any 
who  asked  by  day  or  by  night,  to  that 
room  which  had  seen  so  much  of  physical 
pain — to  that  room  which  was  to  be  his 
home  no  longer! 

Graciously  and  hospitably  he  prepared 
a  frugal  meal.  The  dishes  we  left  un- 
washed.   We  hurried  to  the  street. 

Vividly  I  remember,  remember  as 
though  it  were  but  yesterday,  how  from  a 
flower  vender  at  Sixth  Avenue  and  Four- 
teenth Street  he  purchased  ten  cents  worth 


TOGETHER— AT  LAST  199 

of  perfumed  sprayed  roses  for  the  frail, 
sick  little  wife  lying  in  her  bed  of  pain  in 
that  ward  at  Belle vue. 

And  again  we  had  hurried  on.  Neither 
of  us  spoke. 

We  entered  the  ward.  Her  bed  was 
empty  and  had  been  freshly  made  up. 
My  heart  almost  stopped.  He  did  not 
seem  to  realise  the  significance  of  that 
empty  bed. 

A  nurse  tiptoed  up  and  beckoned  us  to 
follow.  Jane  had  failed  rapidly  late  that 
afternoon  and  they  had  telegraphed  for 
him  to  come  at  once.  But  the  telegram 
had  miscarried. 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  it  had 
been  an  act  of  Providence  that  had  com- 
pelled me  to  act,  as  that  telegram  failed  to 
reach  him. 

They  had  moved  the  almost  worn  out 
little  frame  to  a  private  room.  The  bed 
lay  close   to   a  partly   opened   window. 


200     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

Preceded  by  the  nurse,  we  entered  at  pre- 
cisely the  moment  that  nature  gave  way 
and  the  poor,  tired,  worn  out  little  heart 
ceased  its  beating  forever. 

Those  flowers — he  could  not  hand  them 
to  her  now — he  laid  gently  on  her  breast. 

What  a  night  that  was !  How  brave  he 
had  been!  How  manly — how  totally  un- 
like the  man  he  formerly  had  been — how 
much  like  the  man  so  many  of  us  ought 
to  be. 

We  walked  the  streets,  going  nowhere, 
but  always  walking,  walking,  walking  till 
long  after  daylight.  It  was  bitter  cold, 
but  he  felt  it  not.  He  was  fighting — 
fighting  the  biggest  battle  of  his  life. 
Fighting  to  resist  the  old  call — the  call  of 
drink,  of  excitement,  of  anything  to 
deaden  the  pain  at  his  heart. 

And  he  won  his  fight! 

His  tears  ceased  and  our  eyes  met. 
We  read  each  other's  thoughts.     Why 


TOGETHER  AT  LAST  201 

shouldn't  we?  Fate  had  served  me  as  she 
had  him.  He  had  been  to  me  under  simi- 
lar circumstances  what  I  had  been  to  him. 
Together  each  time  we  had  passed  through 
two  never,  never-to-be-forgotten  events. 


"You  know  how  we  took  her  little  body- 
to  the  Mission  that  the  men  there  might 
see  the  lesson  in  her  life — you  know  the 
memories  that  service  awakened  in  the 
hearts  of  many  men  long  since  separated 
from  their  dear  ones  as  I  had  been.  God 
alone  knows  how  much  good  that  service 
did. 

"You  remember  how  we  cleared  the 
room  out,  destroyed  what  I  didn't  want 
and  gave  the  rest  away?  It  was  all  over 
then.  And  when  the  excitement  had 
passed  off  and  the  old,  old  wanderlust 
again  crept  into  my  being  I  packed  up  my 
belongings,  for  I  was  afraid. 

"With  my  bundle  in  my  hand,  and  with 


202     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

the  fear  in  my  heart  that  I'd  fall,  I  went 
back  where  my  real,  true  self  came  from — 
I  went  back  to  live  again  at  the  Bowery 
Mission." 


EPILOGUE 

John  Goode  is  by  no  means  an  imag- 
inary person.  The  foregoing  story  is  not, 
as  some  might  suppose,  either  romance  or 
fiction.  The  graphic  recital  of  this  man's 
uplifting  from  the  lowest  depths  of  de- 
pravity to  the  pure,  clean  heights  of  a 
thoroughly  regenerated  manhood,  is  not 
open  even  to  the  charge  of  exaggeration. 
Speaking  under  the  mighty  stress  of  an 
exaltation  and  rapture  unknown  and  un- 
knowable except  to  those  who  have  been 
delivered  from  the  thrall  of  gross  ma- 
terialism, and  have  become  "new  creatures 
in  Christ  Jesus,"  extreme  language,  with 
an  occasional  trip  across  the  border  into 
the  purely  imaginary,  might  almost  have 
been  pardonable. 

203 


204     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

But  nothing  but  hard,  cold,  and  some- 
times cruel  fact  has  fallen  from  this  man's 
lips. 

The  temptation  to  the  author,  Mr. 
Scandlin,  must  also  have  been  a  very  great 
one.  The  friendship  between  these  two 
men  has  been  one  of  the  most  pathetic 
things  I  have  ever  known.  Utterly  dis- 
similar in  disposition,  training,  and  tem- 
perament, the  one  a  young  business  man, 
the  other  a  hardened  ex-convict,  they  were 
brought  together  in  the  Bowery  Mission, 
learned  together  at  the  feet  of  the  Great 
Teacher  the  same  lesson  of  Love,  and 
formed  for  each  other  an  affection  and 
respect  never  surpassed  since  the  days  of 
David  and  Jonathan. 

Notwithstanding  this,  Mr.  Scandlin 
has  conducted  the  recital  of  this  touching 
story  without  permitting  a  hair's-breadth 
deviation  from  the  line  of  absolute  fact. 

The  story  could  very  well  be  extended, 


EPILOGUE  205 

and  something  said  of  John  Goode's  life 
of  abundant  usefulness  during  the  last 
few  years.  He  is  one  of  our  most  active 
workers,  the  leader  of  our  Wednesday 
night  meetings,  and  the  assistant  leader  of 
the  Sunday  evening  meetings.  He  is  never 
absent  from  his  post.  He  puts  an  amaz- 
ing amount  of  enthusiasm  into  everything 
he  says  and  does,  in  connection  with  the 
meetings.  When  he  speaks,  he  never  re- 
mains on  the  platform,  but  walks  down 
into  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  where  he  has 
his  audience  at  close  grips.  His  talks  and 
testimonies  are  always  delivered  with  tre- 
mendous force,  and  many  a  brand  has  he 
plucked  from  the  burning. 

His  activities,  however,  are  not  confined 
to  the  meetings.  If  there  is  any  poor  out- 
cast, who  has  fallen  so  often  that  even  the 
warm-hearted  workers  in  our  meetings 
have  lost  faith  in  him,  it  is  John  Goode 
that  goes  after  him.    If  the  news  comes  to 


206     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

the  Mission  that  some  man  has  fallen  by 
the  way,  been  overcome  with  temptation, 
and  is  in  the  backroom  of  some  saloon,  or 
has  been  taken  to  the  Tombs  prison,  or 
the  alcoholic  ward  of  Bellevue  Hospital, 
it  is  John  Goode  that  always  flies  to  the 
rescue.  His  own  deliverance  has  been  so 
wonderful,  and  his  faith  in  God  and  man, 
therefore,  so  great  that  he  despairs  of  no 
one.  He  is  a  man  of  great  mental  ability, 
he  has  a  passionate  love  of  reading  works 
of  philosophy,  poetry,  and  artistic  litera- 
ture. He  has  two  favourites  amongst  the 
preachers  of  New  York  City,  whom  he 
never  fails  to  hear  when  he  has  the  chance, 
Dr.  Jowett  and  Dr.  Hugh  Black.  Read- 
ers of  this  little  story,  bearing  in  mind  his 
early  training,  and  his  progress  through 
the  dark  by-ways  of  vice  and  crime,  may 
be  surprised  to  know  that  the  two  princi- 
pal features  of  his  character  are,  his  love 


EPILOGUE  207 

of  the  beautiful  and  his  love  of  little  chil- 
dren. 

There,  perhaps,  never  was  such  a  serv- 
ice in  the  Bowery  Mission  as  the  Memorial 
Service  to  his  wife.  He  insisted  upon 
having  her  body  brought  and  placed  in 
the  middle  aisle  of  our  auditorium,  and 
as  he  stood  there,  his  huge  frame  shaking 
with  emotion,  his  hand  resting  lovingly 
upon  the  casket,  he  pleaded  with  the  men, 
especially  those  separated  from  their 
wives  and  children,  to  accept  the  same 
wonderful  salvation  that  had  come  to  him. 
I  have  been  many  years  in  this  work 
amongst  the  lowly  of  the  Bowery,  and 
have  witnessed  many  pathetic  scenes,  but 
amongst  the  most  impressive  are  those  of 
that  faithful  wife  in  her  humble  home  in 
her  later  days,  rejoicing  over  the  answer 
to  her  prayers,  and  the  transformation  of 
her  husband.  Over  and  over  again,  with  a 
smile  of  ineffable  beauty  resting  upon  her 


208     THE  WICKED  JOHN  GOODE 

poor,  worn  features,  would  she  repeat  the 
words,  "John  is  such  a  good  man." 

We  are  praying  that  John  Goode's  life 
may  be  spared  to  us  for  many  years  to 
come,  for  a  stouter,  braver  life  has  never 
breasted  the  waves  in  behalf  of  his  fellow- 
men. 

J.  G.  Hallimond, 

Superintendent  of  the 

Bowery  Mission. 


1 

1012  01236   9916 

DATE  DUE 

CAYLORD 

PBINTEOINU.S.A. 

